“But don’t you get attached?”

Second only to the “Why” question, I’m asked this all. the. time. To which I always say

“Yes. You’re supposed to. I think that’s why they’re looking for human beings to foster and not robots”.

But of course, people still look at me as if I’m a robot, so much so that I start to wonder if I’m heartless, cold and have boxy shoulders. But then I remember how hard it is to find blouses that are slender enough for my petite frame and I stare back at people like they are aliens. And while I think of aliens and robots as all being from the same film unifying in one great mission, I start to doubt that I can ever talk to these aliens again. Then I realize that if I make that decision I would have no one on the planet to be friends with and then I start to believe that I really MIGHT be a robot. And then up pops the memory that I spent part of my doctoral studies pursuing HCI (human-computer interaction). And now we have arrived to the place where I start to question myself and the designers at Anthropologie who have mastered the puffed sleeve for my robotic arms.

The real question these aliens are asking though is “Isn’t it so incredibly painful when the children are reunited with their parents that you want to go walk out in front of a bus?” and I get the question, I really do, but not so much. Because doing nothing makes me feel like walking out in front of a bus. Maybe it was all of those damn Sally Struthers commercials growing-up.

Doing something is actually pretty fun most of the time. Like lying awake typing this post because starting at 3:02am that 22 month-old in my bedroom started singing a disturbing mashup of “Baa-Baa Black Sheep” and “Poker Face”. And she’s on like the 29th verse already and for all I know she thinks there are 43 more.

I can’t imagine feeling any more alive and happy.