Then I had kids.
Six things I said I’d never do as a mom:
I was certain my children would sit quietly in the cart and wouldn’t need to be pacified by Angry Birds to get through a shopping trip. They’d be Mommy’s helpers, holding coupons without wrinkling them or getting them out of order.
I bet you’re wondering what I was smoking.
Taking my kids grocery shopping is a desperate move forced by critically low food supplies. Period. And couponing? Whatever. My kids are glazed out and glued to their screens while I shop for food to fill their little bellies. I am unashamed.
No Kraft mac and cheese or anything made by Chef Boyardee for us. I remember gazing at my beautifully organized cabinets, thinking: My little darlings will eat organic beetroot pasta with Gorgonzola cheese sauce. None of that blue box crap for us.
Riiiight. Last week, we had scrambled eggs and Diet Coke for dinner because I was too tired to go grocery shopping. Go me.
There won’t be a plastic tub filled with soap scum and headless, naked Barbie dolls in my bathroom. Our Zen living space will not contain ugly, plastic toys. We will have vintage wooden playthings that provide age-appropriate mental stimulation while contributing to the aesthetically pleasing environment in our home. Guests will be comfortable sitting on my couch to enjoy a glass of wine without having to check to make sure they’re not about to park their asses on part of what used to be a banana.
Are you laughing at me yet?
My house looks like the plastic toy fairy puked in every single room. And while I strive for my living room to be a comfortable and food residue-free place to hang out, best to look before you sit.
I won’t be that mom who lets herself go. I’ll never drop the kids off at school in my jammies with visible remnants of yesterday’s mascara. My nail polish will never be chipped and I’ll only wear yoga pants for actual yoga.
Snort. While I still make a reasonable effort not to look like a hag, my bar for everyday cuteness is lower. I don’t drop my kids off wearing visible remnants of yesterday’s mascara because although I probably do own mascara, I’m not exactly sure where it is.
And, while not my norm, I did once leave the house in pajamas and my husband’s raincoat. It wasn’t raining but it helped conceal that I wasn’t wearing a bra.
I used to scoff at those parents who posted potty play-by-plays on Facebook, but you know what? Sometimes, the fact that my kid didn’t crap his pants is the biggest freakin’ news of my day, and I want others to bask in my triumph. Roll your eyes at my oversharing… zero shits given... pun intended.
I used to be appalled when I saw moms doing the public poop check: the not-so-discreet back-of-the-diaper sniff.
OMG, she just sniffed that kid’s ass!
Ditto scooping a pacifier off the floor, licking it and shoving the germy gobstopper back in the kid’s mouth. Talk about 50 shades of gross.
Um… yeah. Moms have special immunity against the grossness of poop, snot and anything else that comes out of a small human. And seriously, who has time to actually look inside your kid’s diaper? The nose knows.
Moms-to-be, never say never. Karma will sneak up to bite you in your smug little behind.
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