This is the question that was asked of me as I waited for my take-out at a restaurant.  The question struck me as funny.  Here I am, with a squirmy 20 month old in my lap who looks a lot like me, at 7:00 at night, trying to pick up something to eat so that I don’t have to cook, and the young girl behind the cash register asks, “Is that your daughter?”

Here are some possible answers to that question:

“No.  I just found her wandering around outside.”
“No.  This is my son.  Just ignore the pig tails and the dress.”
“I don’t know.  I’m waiting for the DNA test to come back.”
“I think so.  She keeps calling me ‘Ma Ma’ and refuses to leave the house.”
“No.  Target was having a sale.”

I was too tired to be snarky, and perhaps snark was uncalled for in this situation.  So I simply answered:

“Yes.”

I really wanted to know why she asked me that question, but again, I was exhausted and the kid was squirmy, so I didn’t feel like engaging in an extended conversation.  Perhaps she knows people who care for their little brothers/sisters/cousins/neighbors or perhaps my kid looks nothing like me and I am a deluded, exhausted mother of a toddler.  Either way, I thought it was a funny question.


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