That’s Not Appropriate, Mommy!

One thing I have never claimed to be is socially appropriate. I’m loud and involuntarily roll my eyes at other obnoxious people (notice I wrote ‘other’). If warranted, I’ll happily let you (and everyone around you) know that you are being an obnoxious jerk. To top it off, my humor is somewhat ‘off’ which sometimes causes problems for me with the other mommies that are slightly more mature in what makes them laugh. I’ve had some trouble mixing my sense of humor with child rearing. It’s really hard to tone things down after 30-something years of life sans offspring.
I’ve been holding on to this picture for awhile. I like it. It suits me. Sure, she’s smiling at you over her cup of coffee, but she clearly thinks you’re an ass. I sometimes fight the temptation to pass these words of wisdom on to people who don’t like some of my posts and feel quite comfortable saying so. Believe it or not, some of my posts are actual essays versus mortifying mommy moments and life ain’t always funny, folks. On the other hand, the coffee drinking bitch in the picture above is funny. To me at least…

The odd thing is, I didn’t realize that I had aged out of so many of the things that make me laugh. Perhaps because when we made a left turn onto the road of parenthood, I had no idea that six and a half years could move so quickly, and all while I was often in a zombie-like state. The process has been so gradual. Kate made a respectably sized tinkle in her potty this morning. This is big news. HUGE, even! We’re nearing the finish line of our six and a half year diaper changing marathon and I’m beginning to feel like I’ve been living under a rock, only I didn’t know I was living under a rock. It’s almost as if I got stuck in some weird time sucking limbo…no, maybe more like Ridley in those Aliens movies, I was put into a hyperbaric chamber and stayed the exact same while nearly ten years passed me by.

I was struck with this revelation on Sunday afternoon as I remembered that I used to love Urban Outfitters. When we lived in Boston, I could have had my mail directed c/o Urban Outfitters, 361 Newbury Street. Oh my GOD, I thought, how did I ever forget about that? What has become of me? Who am I? I drive a fucking minivan and lopped off all of my hair into a pixie cut. I’m a *gulp* soccer mom. I’m not going to deny that some tears were shed. I won’t pretend that I didn’t go upstairs to my closet and fondle stilettos that I haven’t worn in a year. I looked at my sad, dwindling wardrobe and decided that I was going to revamp and stock up. My laptop and I were on a mission to make me cool and pretty again. I thought, I’ll just pick up where I left off…

 Urban Outfitters
Joe can read now, so in the interest of a tactful approach to motherhood, I’ll have to forego the purchase of this one.
I….am….a…virg…virgin. Mom? What’s a virgin?
Oh…um, well… A virgin is an angelic being. See? See this halo right here?
Problem is, he’d go to school and draw pictures of angelic beings and call them virgins. It’s bad enough that the words “Pussy Pie” tumbled from his mouth on our ride home this afternoon. In a nutshell, the t-shirt is just not a good idea. Besides, I’d likely just buy it and wear to go running or sleep in it.
Urban Outfitters carries these funny coasters called Indelicate Doilies. Genius. My personal favorite?
“Don’t Stain My Table, Douchebag.” 
Urban Outfitters
I like to sit back and imagine what would happen if I had some of the mommies over and served each of them with a cocktail, one of these doilies and a smile. I think that most of my new friends in Maine would laugh, but you have to wonder…I’m going to stock up and then let you know how that goes.
Speaking of cocktails and other mommies. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that jello shots are no longer appropriate. Damn! There’s a whole entire book dedicated to them!
Urban Outfitters
Same goes for the “Beer Belt”. I’m thinking that the neighbors might talk if I wear this to the next block party.
Urban Outfitters


Bottom line? I’ve aged out of Urban Outfitters.
Please, make me feel better about my metamorphosis into a haggard, old mommy by clicking on the brown button below. Each click saves me from sagging boobies and erases fine line and wrinkles!
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Who am I?

Okay, so there was a time that I could clearly define who I was. My career, my clothes, my car, my hobbies and interests were all wrapped up in a tidy little box that said, “30-something, career girl, well-traveled, groomed and funny.” No strings attached. I would have described myself as spontaneous and just a skosh sarcastic. That is, until my husband entered my universe. Of course, after a few years we added a baby to the box, then two and, woops..make that three!

So here I am desperately attempting to define this “new” me. Am I simply a stay-at-home mommy now? I have to admit, it is sometimes painfully clear that old spontaneous, no-string-attached girl hopped on a plane to paradise and isn’t coming back. EVER. She took her plane hopping, sleep-until-10-on-the-weekend-self and ran like the wind. (Someone should tell her that she forgot to take her fabulous shoes.)

Mom…Mommy…Mama…whatever “label” the beasties attach to me, I’m having one heck of a good time. Sure, I miss my daily shower and no, I don’t like these dark circles under my eyes, thank you very much! Yet, there is nothing more beautiful than my 18 month old, sporting her newly acquired pigtails, running on chubby legs and wrapping her tiny arms around my neck. I’ll take that and all the moments these three children provide, over that no-strings-attached girl anytime!

For now, I’m going to sit back and take my time figuring who the real me is. Mom, neat-freak, wife, obsessive-compulsive amateur interior designer, sarcastic, happy, sad, angry, creative…Maybe you can help.