It all started with a Chihuahua. Then it was a bichon frise. After that we moved away from live accessories and onto the Red Bull/Sidekick double fisted duo. Then full circle again to puggles. There was even a kinkachu monkey thrown into the mix.

Now in the evolution of all things that go hand and hand, teacup dogs have become blasé and babies have become the new black.

I can hear a collective gasp of air being sucked into the lungs of conservative women across the Merrimack Valley (if there are any). Not all at once ladies, remember to breathe. It is not that I want to lose any readers, but if the Fox News Network is your favorite channel and Laura Bush is your fashion icon this column may not be your cup of Earl Grey.

Before I get a message that my in-box is over its e-mail quota from young moms, old moms and moms raising their kid’s kids, all wishing me a horrible death or peppered with phrases like “I hope you never have children,” stop and save your manicure. You do not want to ruin your French tips while ferociously taking your anger out on the keyboard.

Oh yeah, that’s right, you do not have your nails done since you have to spend your disposable income on diapers (isn’t that a kicker) or on Wiggles tickets rather than pampering yourself at a spa.

Go right ahead then — let it rip.

I am not after mothers, not even trendy mothers. Sure you can wear a Rachel Ray mini-trapeze dress while pushing baby Lexus in the Graco SnugRide. And if you wear platform lace-up ankle boots while doing so, I envy you.

I understand mother’s feelings. It is the most under appreciated job on the planet, besides the poor soul who clips your toenails at the pedicure station in the salon. Mom’s only get one day a year, when they get some half-hearted sorry excuse for a Hallmark card made out of torn out notebook paper. “#1 Mom” is scratched across the paper with a cheap Bic pen that is running low on ink. Hey, that’s more than the toe clipper they get discarded nails in their bras.

My poor mother, she gave birth to me (that’s not why she is so poor) and a bratty brother. We never thought she was as cool as my aunt who had no kids. There were no rules at auntie’s house — it was like the Wild West to us, even though it was just Tewksbury. We ordered multiple pizzas with everything and anything on it, not just cheese so the whole family could have a slice — we each got our own large. We also flipped off the guy who cut us off in the supermarket parking lot — and it was encouraged. Swearing, R-rated movies and staying up past midnight? Not an issue.

Sorry auntie. I think we are old enough now where mom won’t give you the punishment of preparing Thanksgiving dinner for the entire family. No wonder mom buys a magnum bottle of Riesling and hides it behind the desserts in the basement refrigerator just for herself. Now two family secrets are out. Time to find a new hiding place mom. (By the way, I know where you keep the spiced hard cider too).

But if babies are the new black, it’s great for me. I don’t wear black.

Please send all hate mail to my editor and compliments to lowellita@lowellsun.com.