Sunday, September 25, 2011

"That" Mom

When you are a kid, there are all sorts of things you say you will never do (or always do!) when you grow up, usually in defiance . . .

"I'll never make my kid eat vegetables if they don't want to!"

"I'm going to let my kids watch Saturday morning cartoons anytime they want!"

"I'll never wash my kid's mouth out with soap!" (For the record, haven't done that one . . . no promises!)

And then as you get older you realize that some of those resolutions are going to be broken sooner or later. But you still keep making them. Like . . .

"I'll never be the mom who falls apart after having kids and never does her hair again and ends up wearing high waisted mom jeans and sneakers every day!" (For the record, I resolved this after watching too many episodes of "What Not to Wear," not because my mom was a slob, because she's not.)

And then yesterday happened.

Yesterday morning at 11 a.m. I looked in the mirror and realized I was THAT MOM.

Last shower, two days ago. Hair, completely spiked up and disastrous from where I slept on it. I haven't been wearing much makeup lately, but I at least put on a tinted moisturizer each morning . . . and obviously hadn't yet! The bags under my eyes said "I got one hour of sleep last night" (true, Jude was sick), and no one wanted to get close enough to smell my breath, that's for sure.

As for my award winning style, here you go. Maternity shorts (my pajamas had been puked on in the middle of the night) in a very bright green sweatpant material, matched (I use that word VERY loosely) with a men's (thank you, John!) brown tee-shirt with holes in it and various patches of breastmilk and spit-up (and thank you, Jude!) all over the front.

It was about this time that John asked what my goals were for the day. Only one answer I could give.


Forget the laundry, the bathroom that hasn't been cleaned in an embarrassingly long time, the stairs that need vacuuming, and the dust bunny that has taken up permanent residence under my bed. I don't want to wake up five years from now and find myself fighting with Stacy and Clinton to keep my mom jeans. Although if anyone wants to nominate me for the show, go for it . . . just wait till I get back to my pre-baby body, ok?

1 comment:

Beth said...

Oh, my sweet, dear, dear, friend, ohhhhh. Yeah. I've been there! It's like you are so far from where you eventually hope to be that you can't even imagine ever getting there. What? Someday I'll get to shower daily again? I'll have kids who sleep all night long and I can feed them neatly and tidily with or without a burp cloth? My bathroom will look presentable at least half the time? Really? I don't believe it....


This too shall pass, this too shall pass, this too shall pass. It really will. If you promise not to check me into the loony bin, I'd like to admit that I would go back to those days (maybe just ONE day). I miss my tiny baby and nursing and the days before Ben could negotiate (holy cow, that kid will be a lawyer or something someday - he is exhausting!) and all of that stuff that seems so simple, looking back. I know for sure it wasn't simple, but somehow looking back I miss it. Sniff, sniff.

For-real-tears in my eyes right now!

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