Did I give the impression the other day as I extolled the virtues of motherhood that it was all a rockin' good time, la-dee-da, and fun, fun, fun? Because that's not what I meant. I meant every word, but not in "life is perfect and we're all having so much fun aren't we? (complete with Crest White strips bleached grin)" kind of way. I'm just looking for a little perspective.
And perspective changes.
I was on the phone with Holly, and the following conversation took place.
"He totally sucked down five ounces. I think I'm going to let him have more."
"Yeah, he's having a growing day. They eat like every two hours one day, and then the next they sleep the whole day."
"I remember when K was his age and she ate twelve ounces and I was afraid she'd barf it all up."
Then it gets quiet.
Holly- "I can't believe we're having this conversation."
So we've lost our edge. Does this mean we're not cool any more? Cuz we used to be. We totally kicked ass.
OK. Who are we kidding? Only we thought we were cool and our husbands rolled their eyes at us. But we came and went as we pleased. Hit the coast for an afternoon trip just because we felt like our favorite restuarant. Ate out. A lot. Kept up on the latest and greatest playing in the theaters. Hung out until wee hours of the morning because we didn't have babysitters to worry about.
Oh, how far we've come. And it is good. And we are happier and more fulfilled that we've ever been, but there's still a little part that misses our edge.
I think every mommy needs to do something every once in a while that reminds her that she is still an Ass Kicking She-Woman Hottie. You can call it something different if you don't like my phrase.
It can be something small.
Yesterday morning I had to find my suit and nylons to go down and meet with an attorney (again). I can't tell you the last time I wore nylons. Oh. It was the last time I met with him. I'm not totally thrilled about wearing the dumb things and driving forty five minutes, but I'm all dolled up and get to drive the little car. So, for an hour I drove around like Charlise Theron in Italian Job rocking out to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers singing and dancing and actually packed a purse rather than a diaper bag. And even though I still had to hit Costco on the way home and go to Park Days later in the day, rocking out and singing and looking hot (and by hot I mean not smelling like formula) was enough to rejuvenate me. Who knew that rocking out to a classic could be such a boost. I came home feeling like I still kick ass.
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