I would like to take this time to extend my sincerest apologies to yo momma. I was unkind in my youth and I shudder to recall the cheap insults we recklessly flung at yo poor, poor momma. Looking back, I can see it was I, not yo momma, who is so dumb that I stood on a chair to raise my IQ.

At 11 years old, my preteen angst was perpetually at war with my self-esteem and, unfortunately, yo momma was caught in the crossfire. I suppose we could dismiss it as “locker room talk,” but that would be disingenuous as I now know it is never acceptable to call someone “so stupid, she sold her car for gas money.” Nobody deserves that, least of all yo momma.

I struggled in school from an early age. Long division had its way with me and I failed to grasp even the most redundant plotlines of The Hardy Boys novels. I guess I thought if I could deflect attention to yo momma, people would forget that it was I who was so dumb, it took me two hours to watch 60 Minutes.

To tell you the truth, I was always jealous of yo momma. She was warm and made friends everywhere she went. While my birthday parties struggled to draw even the most modest of crowds, yo momma hosted half the town for the Super Bowl. We’d all marvel at the deliciousness of her deviled eggs, buffalo chicken dip, and freshly cut veggie platters from her own garden. I am finally mature enough to admit that it didn’t even make sense for me to posit that yo momma’s cooking so nasty, the house flies got together to fix the hole in the window screen. No one even laughed at that one since the charges were so heinous and unbelievable.

I never should have commented on her body. I see that now. Yo momma so beautiful, she put her body on the line to carry you and bring you into this world. Not only should that be respected, it should be celebrated. If I had any sense at all I would’ve been saying, “Yo momma so competent, she raised four kids while holding down a full-time job, balancing the family’s extracurricular activities, and running a household.”

I am resigned to the fact that one day my son will grow up and make mistakes. I only hope that when he and his buddies are busting chops, they will direct the brunt of their pre-teen aggression towards me. Send those insults to yo poppa. I hereby willingly offer myself up to be yo poppa who is so dumb that I failed a survey. I’ll be yo poppa who is so dumb, I tried to put M&Ms in alphabetical order. Just know that now, yo poppa such an ally, when he looks at M&Ms all he sees are Ws, and they stand for WOMEN!

I pray that yo momma so forgiving, she gives me another chance even though I don’t deserve it.

I can’t go back in time and change the past. All I can do is try to be better moving forward. I am not the same person I was at 11. I support women. The future is female. The future is your mother.