“But how did your kitty have her babies without a doctor there?” My then-seven-year-old son looked up at me after hearing my mom and me I talk about Miss Kitty. Miss Kitty was a stray we’d adopted when I was about his age. On the day my mom was talking about, Miss Kitty had been very pregnant in the morning, when we left for work and school. When we got home, later that day, she was skinny and there were four kittens under my bed.
For months after the birth of my first child, I lived in beautiful ignorance of the depth and depravity that is children’s television. Between naps, meals, walks, and play time, my son and I snuggled on the couch and watched Jurassic Park, So I Married an Axe Murder, the entire box set of “The Golden Girls” – you know, childhood classics.