As you know, I’m a blogger. Duh. You’re reading my blog. Shut up.

Come fall, I will also be a published author. Fall: the perfect time of year for a book called Motherfumbler. Get it? Fall… Fumbling… Oh shut up.

Anyway, I’m pretty stoked about it all. I’m going to be a household name — in at least four houses where I have blood relatives.

But I sometimes think — usually as my mother is wagging her finger — what happens when Max starts to read? Will I keep writing as I do? Should I curb my vulgarity to protect him? One day, is he going to be mortified by my book about tits and vaginas and what a horrible baby he was? Probably. Well I can’t take the book back now. And I don’t wanna. It’s going to be out there. For. Ev. Er. When he’s five. When he’s 15. When I’m dead. So maybe I’ll include this loving message to him at the front of the book, in case he needs a little help to deal.

Dear Max:

One day, one of your evil classmates is going to bring this book to school, hand it to you, and say: “Page 87 is all about your mom’s vagina.” In fact, I probably just ensured this will indeed happen.

It’s okay if you’re embarrassed. Children are supposed to be ashamed of their parents, especially ones who are really funny and awesome. But when that kid says his mom says your mom is “crazy” or “vulgar” or a “bad mom,” you make sure to reply with one of the following:

1. Oh yeah, well at least my mom can write more than her name on a bathroom stall.

2. At least my mom has a vagina. I heard your mom’s got an alpaca farm down there.

3. Your mom is just jealous, because your dad wishes my mom was your mom.

4. That ol’ thing? That’s what my mom was doing while working and parenting and blogging and playing football and saving the whales and stuff. What does your mom do, other than change your big boy diapers and bleach her moustache?

Now you’re all set. Of course, the best thing to do is just smile and say: Tell your mom – thanks so much for buying a copy. I’m one step closer to Disneyland. Again.

P.S. I’m very proud of you, even if you’re not proud of me (yet).