And just in time for Mother's Day...

I got to spend Saturday with my best friend, Sherri, and her newborn son, Samuel.

Samuel - the most precious little baby boy I've ever met, who stole my heart when I raced to his birth almost six weeks ago.

I am Auntie Brittany, and I am proud.

So, as his devoted auntie, when I'm with him, I spend every minute I can holding him and talking to him and whispering to him how much I love him.

Because I do.

Because he's the firstborn of my best friend, and it goes without saying that anything that comes out of her is basically half mine.

Or, at least, that's what others seem to think.

Because this Saturday - in some sort of horrible shout-out to Mother's Day - while Sherri's husband, Jesse, went to a weekend class, Samuel and I took the new momma bathing-suit shopping.

Because who wouldn't want to squeeze themselves into exposing neon Lyrca in an effort to celebrate motherhood?

Cruel as that is, though, that's not the point of today's story...

So, there we were, strolling the section of Target for the scantily clad.

While Sherri grabbed every tankini they make, I consoled a cranky Samuel.

I'm doing the whole jostle-swish-rub-pat-bounce-singsong routine that all grown women revert to when desperately trying to get an awake baby asleep, when a lovely young couple with a baby of their own walks up to inspect the 6-week-old I'm holding.

They cooed; they admired.

They were very complimentary.

They asked questions about his birth date, his weight, his length, etc.

And like any good friend, I answered the questions for Sherri while she nodded and smiled and tried to surreptitiously grab a polka-dotted one-piece while giving them her full attention.

Then, there was an awkward pause.

The husband looked at us and smiled; the wife grinned from ear to ear.

Obviously, they had something to say.

And then, the man finally got it out:

'Well, you two make a beautiful baby together."

Uh-oh.

Either the couple was trying very hard to figure out exactly what our "situation" was, or something had gone terribly wrong when they took Sex Ed 101 back in sixth grade.

Insert awkward pause here.

What to do? What to do? I thought.

So I did what I always do when the right words escape me: I laughed.

I also managed to throw out something along the lines of, "Oh no, my friends' made a beautiful baby together. Not me and her. Now I just get to enjoy him," in between giggles.

Which, come to think of it, probably made it worse.

Still, I was trying to salvage the situation.

And Sherri totally wasn't helping, as she'd ducked behind a rack of bikinis to guffaw.

So I did what I had to do.

I took one for the team.

I sucked it up and explained that he wasn't actually our baby, though technically I do claim him, just not in that way.

And then I sent the couple awkwardly shuffling away from us.

Sigh.

I should have just said "Thank You."

After all, he's half mine, anyways.

***

I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother's Day weekend! Even if you were just mistaken for a mother, like me;) Happy Monday everyone!

P.S. Some of you expressed concern about the legal issues surrounding the student of mine I blogged about on Friday. Rest assured, all proper channels were followed years ago; her situation has been reported to child-welfare authorities more than once, as well as to the school counselors, etc. I want to thank you all - who left named comments and e-mails - for caring.

P.P.S To the anonymous commenter on Friday's post: You have no right to berate me for something you just assumed I did or didn't do. Fact is, I had reported this situation with the student. I just didn't think that fact was pertinent to include in the post. (Not that reporting the problem fixes a lick of the pain that the girl has already gone through. For someone who claims to know the system, you should know how corrupt and lacking it truly is, as well.) So you can back off and stop getting all righteous and angry about me not doing my duties. Next time you feel like telling me what a lousy teacher and mandatory reporter I am, please leave an e-mail address so I can respond to you in kind. Cowardice is not attractive, my dear anonymous friend.