I'm not. I have a child. Sometimes it happens to people my age, too. The baby in the stroller is indeed mine so before you bring up "The Nanny Diaries" (and no, I didn't read it) and ask if I am available to caretake your kid as well, I'm telling you to save us both the explanation-- The kid came out of my bod.
Just because I'm not speed-walking in Juicy Couture sweatsuits and my Warner Bros hat doesn't mean I'm not an L.A. parent.
I appreciate your concern and I get the fact that I am young and "when you were my age" life was so new and so many parties and "you just don't meet many girls your age with families around here." And I see that condescending look in your eye, I can sense the "weeeeeeeell then"s before you open your mouth because it's pretty much an everyday occurrence these days. It's not hard to read your faces.
I'm not going to suddenly trade in my wardrobe for a pair of Lee jeans and Reeboks. It's not my style. I'm not going to paint my nails pink and read Martha Stewart Living or watch Oprah. I'm just me with a kid. Got it? Not a nanny or a babysitter or a college student making some extra money and getting material for my screenplay. I AM A MOTHER and just because I don't look like your mother, or the mother who lives next door or the mother you see on TV in her white jeans and "baby on board" sticker, doesn't mean I don't know how to parent. Thank you kindly for your time and please go back to your Starbucks beverages.