“Lizzie Borden took an axe

And gave her mother forty whacks.

When she saw what she had done

She gave her father forty-one.”

It’s irrational that I worry about my daughter growing up and killing me one day. Crazy as it sounds, it happens. Look at the infamous Menedez brothers or Lizzie Borden. Or the most recent story I heard about on the news this morning. They called the kids a pair of star-crossed lovers a la Romeo & Juliet. They were forbidden to be together by the 14-year-old girl’s mother, so what do they decide? To off her. Scary shit! That poor mom was probably just looking out for her young daughter and that was the thanks she got.

I watch too many of these 48 Hours Mystery shows and Dateline specials. It’s no wonder I have nightmares about getting rid of bodies. I’ve always had a fascination with mystery novels and Hitchcock movies, an interest in the macabre. I guess I’m addicted to these shows because I’m always shocked at what people are capable of. I couldn’t fathom killing anyone let alone a family member who I love (even when I thought I “hated” them, I still loved them). I’m hoping by showering our dear child with lots of love and attention, she’ll never want to put me or her father in the ground!

The most frightening part was that the daughter looked like a normal kid in the before pictures. She didn’t look like the monster that she became. I don’t know all the details, maybe the home life was abusive or whatnot, but I don’t see any excuse for murder.

Looking at my baby’s sweet, smiling face, I know she will never be capable of something this heinous. It worries me that she’ll fall into the wrong crowd or be brain-washed by a boy she thinks she loves, but I have to believe that her father and I will set her up to make the best choices in this crazy, effed up world.