Go F*ck Yourself

It seems like every time you reach a major milestone, people have a million questions to ask.  When you graduate from high school, they want to know about your college plans and future goals.  When you get married, they want to know when you are buying a house and having kids.  I never used to mind the games of 20 Questions my friends and family subjected me to, though I will say the "when are you having kids" version got a little old after seven years of marriage.  No, the worst round of questions comes after you have the first kid.  It's suddenly personal in a way it wasn't before.  Every question is an invasion of privacy and an attack on your parenting and family philosophy.  Every response is immediately followed by an obnoxious opinion or observation.  Observe:

Q: "When are you having the next one?"
A: "We're not.  We've decided one is the perfect number for us."
OO: "She HAS to have a brother or sister/Who will she play with/Who will help her care for you when you're older/That's so unfair to her/I want another graaaaaandchiiiiiiild"

Q: "Have you started solids yet?"
A: "No, we're waiting until she's six months old."
OO:  "Why would you wait so long/we didn't and you're fine/But maybe she WANTS it/Well, I started my child at 4 months/3 months/two weeks and he/she is fine" and the ever popular week later follow-up: "Have you started solids yet?"

Q: "How does she sleep?"
A: "Fine once we get her down."
OO: "You should just let her cry it out/Well she wants to be close to you/You need to teach her to put herself to sleep."

I have now decided that there can only be one way to put and end to these games of 20 Questions.  It's time to pull the mommy card.  Let it henceforth be known that because she resided in my uterus for 41 weeks and one day, I get to make the decisions in regards to my daughter.  Perhaps shattering the illusion that people other than my husband and I have a say in these matters will halt the obnoxious opinions and observations, or at the very least cause them to whisper amongst themselves and leave it at that.  If all else fails, there's my old stand-by:

Q: "When are you having the next one?"
A: "Go fuck yourself."

Mean?  Perhaps.  But concise, perfectly expressive, and universal.  It's my second favorite three word phrase.  Not very mommy-ish, but maybe I'm a new type of mommy.  One that breastfeeds and bakes cookies and also happens to say things like "go fuck yourself".  I'm going to take my new strategy and test drive it out in the world.  Will it work?  God, I hope so.  Because if it doesn't, nothing will.