Why is it that I don’t think twice about eating like four thin mints at a time? It’s as if those crispy little pieces of chocolaty-joy shouldn’t count on my daily caloric intake. They’re too easy to eat and they go down so quickly. By the time I have closed the freezer door I’ve already popped one in my mouth and in the time it takes me to walk from the kitchen to the living room I have probably consumed enough calories for a three-course-dinner (salad dressing not included.)

I keep a sleeve or two in the freezer at all times from about March until about May. I just checked and the last sleeve is half-way done, which is a good thing because this hot weather reminds me that in about a month, the whole, “I-just-had-a-baby-so-don’t-mind-the-pooch-belly,” excuse isn’t going to work anymore. My goal is to lose the weight before my baby is old enough to eat Thin Mints. However, if she is anything like my husband or I, she has probably got up in the night without us knowing, climbed out of her crib and eaten her first Thin Mint. If she could say anything other than Momma, I am sure she would tell us, but thankfully I am left in the dark about her late night baby-eating-binge-adventures.

“Why don’t you teach her sign language?” my mom and everyone else who knows more about being a mom than I do, will ask me.

“I should, shouldn’t I,” I respond pretending that I will consider it.

As if I don’t have enough to do besides teach my kid how to wave her hands around to sign, “more” and “all done.” I know when she wants more and I know when she is all done, nobody needs words or sign language for either of those statements. Think about us as adults when we’re eating to we need to announce to our guests that we are all done?

Besides I don’t need my seventh-month old talking back to me with her hands like she is an angry Italian grandmother. The other day my friend’s kid had peas all over his mouth, chin, cheeks and hair and was screaming (I am assuming because he had a monster-sized-gas bubble after eating like a line-backer.) My friend was sitting in front of her screaming son moving her own hands like she just played a hand of black-jack, asking him, “are you all done?” she repeated again and again, “Show me all done.”  She commanded. Finally, the kid moved his hands like a Vegas Veteran. “Good job!” Mommy is so proud of you!” my friend said, looking at me like her kid just performed open heart surgery or cured cancer.

The truth is my daughter is smarter than I am. I knew this from the minute she was born and looked at me with her big blue inquisitive eyes as if to say, “Okay mom, you have been dreaming about this moment for the last nine months, what are you going to say?” It was almost like she was daring me to say something profound and then she was going to correct my grammar. She was a minute old and I was intimidated by her. I went the safe route and said, “I love you,” and then I got nervous and started babbling in the third-person, “Mommy loves you, Mommy thinks you are so perfect,” which I am sure she thought was a little weird, but thankfully she didn’t say anything.

Right now as I shove this Thin Mint in my mouth she is looking at me as if to say, “Mommy, you need to be all done with the Thin Mints.” However, because she doesn’t use sign language or talk I can pretend she is looking at me saying, “Wow, mommy those look yummy, I think you should have another one, they probably make you smarter, skinnier and prettier than you already are.”

See, I told you my kid was a genius.