I didn’t know what my kids were up to.

I have declared how much I love my work and its location. I spend two hours a day going between St. Petersburg and Tampa leaving my children in the dark. They have probably grown more accustomed to their aunties’ faces than mine.

My precious platy fish. Two male and a female. The most obvious sign of my emotional neglect for them has been my inability to remember their names. I’m sure they each had one at some point, but I’ve killed so many of their past brethren it was hard to keep track… which is why I was so determined to keep these platies alive.

Imagine my shock at returning home one day, feed-the-fish routine, then noticing a tiny orange blob floating around. My children had a baby! Guilt washed over me. I had become a workaholic and had neglected my own family. I didn’t even know “female fish” was pregnant. I hadn’t thrown her a baby shower. I didn’t hold her fin as she gave birth. I wasn’t there.

And to further throw her rebellious nature in my face, “female fish” went out and had a total of ELEVEN babies!! I went into grandma mode and told her I can care for them all… but we didn’t have the space. “Female fish” suggested she eat the little ones. Although her suggestion was very omega-3 healthy, I decided that giving up the babies was better for everyone.

So… who wants some tiny platy fish?