You know that moment as a child when you unwittingly ask the hot button question and your elder is clearly reaching for something sage but all she can offer you is some totally impotent answer that really leaves you still wanting to know more? Like my neighbor friend growing up. She saw her mother grabbing something out of a Kotex package on top of the toilet and she asked what was that curiously soft little envelope she was tucking into her handbag? Her mother quickly responded, "Those are for mothers." And then it was all crystal clear.

Once you awaken to the fact that you were duped, once you firmly lift that veil of wool from where it was shielding your eyes, you resolve: That will never be me. When I'm a parent? I'MA DO ONE BETTAH.

And then your Baby Girl watches as you dig through your handbag and notices that thin capsule-shaped package that is kinda the size of a candy bar? And maybe she has seen it before and yet she's not sure so she reaches in and grabs it while you are sitting in church trying to write out your offering check and she wants to know what's inside of this, mommy, and you try and keep this scene on the DL by nipping it in the bud once and for all. So you say, "Those are for mothers." And what else is there to know, really?

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