Performed 3/13/20 at Stand-Up New York right as the town shut down for the pandemic. Show was cancelled so I performed for the random people who wandered in from the streets.
I’m not into long-term parenting.
I’m a foster mom cause I prefer rent-to-own.
I got no idea how to deal with a baby . . .
When they gimme this boy—220 pounds—6’ foot 7”
He’s only 16—and wears size 17 shoes!
I’m praying his age catches up to his shoe size
I’ve always been very open so it’s fine that my son is BI
biracial and bipolar
But here’s the really crazy thing. . .
Back when I was 16, I dated his 14-year-old father. How weird is it to have the hot version of your high school boyfriend move in—as your son?
He’s hot chocolate in a whitebread town.
First week of school—suspended for fighting.
I tell the principal, “Look, it’s self defense. He’s protecting himself from all these girls.”
Didn’t help that he’s the basketball star.
Dunks the ball & the glass breaks.
Feels like I’m in the movie Blind Side.
I had to get up to speed.
I was still on a flip-phone.
Didn’t even know how to text.
I thought, ya know, my baby needs a father.
So I go on a dating site and as a 36-year-old redhead, my inbox is overflowing on BlackSingles.Com
But I’m not looking for a husband, I’m looking for someone to be my boy’s father.
I find the perfect match—a black gay homeless man.
We’re a great team. He cooks dinner, goes to all our son’s games—an awesome Dad.
Best part: He doesn’t want anything from me—and he can’t afford to leave.
He sleeps on our couch.
But our kid’s so upset his mom and dad aren’t sleeping together.
So we both make the ultimate sacrifice.
We sleep in the same bed for a year.
The good news—he doesn’t snore.
The bad news—he can’t fall asleep without a newspaper over his head.
. . . on top of the covers with his sneakers on . . .
I knew our son was having a lot of sex when I found 4 girls waiting on my front lawn.
I say to one of them, “What are you doing here?”
She’s says, “I’m next.”
At dinner I’m like, “You better be practicing safe sex.”
He goes, “Yea this girl says I gave her glaucoma.”
“I think you mean chlamydia.”
Any break from school, I whisk him away on road trips.
To keep him safe . . . in a small tent—like a camping condom.
When he goes off to college, he sends me Facebook messages.
And so do 6 girls in 3 states looking for him.
Cause they’re all pregnant . . . with my grandkids!
I reach out to each of them.
“Look, I’m here for you. His dad did the same thing to me.
He left me. But I was lucky. My pregnancy test came back negative.
He’s such a hardworking kid.
In college, he worked as a UPS driver.
I don’t even wanna know how many of my grandkids he left on that route.
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