In fairness, I’ve never raised a child.

So I’ve never had to bear seeing that child rejected by a middle school crush or crying because their braces just got tightened too tight. I’m told these rights of parenting passage are particularly difficult for Moms – all part of that love-them-more-than-you-even-knew-you-were-capable-of love that gives 100-pound women the ability to lift vehicles under which their kids are trapped.

It’s easy for me to say that I’ll be perfectly calm and very understanding in the passenger’s seat as my child drives for the first time. Or think it’s cool and expressive when they arrive home from study abroad with a nose ring. Or ask only the most reasonable, not-too-invasive questions while appearing supportive and thrilled when they arrive home and announce that they’re dating someone really great.

Apparently it’s not that easy. Apparently that mothering instinct flicks off some mental switch from “normal annoying” to “complete crazy pants” making sane questions like, “so what are his hobbies?” tumble out as insane questions like, “strange that he didn’t go home for Mother’s Day, no? What do you think that says about him?”

Like I said – I’ve never even had a child, let alone raised one to 24.75 years, so I just can’t say how I’d react when confronted with a man who did not fly home to North Caroline for Mother’s Day trying to steal away my prized first born (Me: Mom, his parents are vacationing in England. My Mom: So they’re vacationing on Mother’s Day without him…interesting.), but I’d like to think that if and when I do, I’ll pull out my crazy-shit Mom censor and only ask reasonable, polite questions.

My mom, no such censor. Full-on, insane question vomit:

• Mom: So he’s 29? So – hhmm – that means he’ll be 30?
  Me: Um, yes, that’s the goal.

• Mom: Oh he has a dog?
  Me: Yeah, adorable dog that he shares with his roommates.
  Mom: You know, a dog is a lot of responsibility. Do you think you have the time for that?
  Me: Um, well, it’s not my dog, so I’m not really that worried about it.
  Mom: Well I’m just saying…it’s a lot.

• Me: I’m not sure exactly what I’d call him at this point
  Mom: Well are you dating? Is he your boyfriend? Are you just friends?
  Me: We haven’t really talked about it yet
  Mom: Your generation and your liberal, career-driven, not-talking-about-it, and not saving for your 401K and never cook meals at home. I did not raise you like this.
  Me: But I am saving for my 401K, and I’d say I cook about 3-4 meals a week at home. I just haven’t had that talk with him yet.
  Mom: Exactly my point.

One 4th of July when I was something like 3-years-old my Mom threatened to kill a large, male Jersey City gang member after he threw a fire cracker that landed next to my stroller. My Mom is 4’11”. Everyone who saw it happen agreed she could have taken him.

So I get it – that this crazy is just the manifestation of a love I have yet to be blessed enough to experience. And so rather than respond with frustration and sarcasm, I’ve decided to take a deep breath, answer each politely, and keep this guy as far away as possible until all the questions settle.

Note to self: have boys.