Motherhood is so glamorous.
A while back when I was at a wedding, filling up Baby Bug’s sippy cup at the punch bowl, there was this young strapping man waiting for me. He chuckled when he saw me awkwardly trying to ladle in some fizzy pink punch into a small plastic cup with purple handles on both sides. In the old days, I’d probably try to think of something clever and flirtatious to say. But the sippy cup kinda ruined that so I said instead, “Motherhood is so glamorous.” He laughed.
Ever since, I’ve been saying that to everyone who catches me in the middle of the trenches of motherhood. It’s my new motto. I grin and think it to myself as I heft up giant ziplock bags of laundry up and down my stairs.
At the laundromat there is a dry cleaners next door and in the front window there is a tailer who sits there all day sewing. He watches me every time, grinning at Baby Bug. I know I must amuse him as I pile laundry bags on top of Baby Bug’s head while she’s in the stroller and then I maneuver the whole top heavy mess in and out of the laundromat with one hand while the other hand opens the door and catches flying pacifiers. I’m getting very good at this circus operation.
When things go wrong, like they always do, I just chalk it up as another practice round. Practice makes perfect. Every time we go out to lunch in a restaurant and I find that I’ve forgotten some important item like a bib or the handy dandy little table top cover, I just tell myself I’m in training. Some days the daily grind reminds me a bit of training for a marathon. It’s hard but you feel good that you’re doing it.
One of these days I’ll be a lean mean mommy machine.