I guess there are some moms who somehow manage to be well-coiffed and kind and calm all the time. You see them occasionally chatting up their toddlers, their lips glistening with perfectly applied gloss, their shiny, freshly washed locks pulled into stylish ponytails. Even their strollers are sleek and crumb-free. Their kids enjoy sushi and clam sauce and 60 Minutes.
And then there's me today at the California Academy of Sciences, belly pouching uncomfortably over my too-tight jeans, my sticky-faced children arching and thrashing and screaming. I was the one trying to balance that tray of food in the crowded cafeteria while pushing a double-stroller into the ankles of my fellow diners. That was me crawling on the floor under the table in an effort to retrieve a runaway water bottle. And yes, that woman pleading with her two-year-old to try to hold her pee pee while she stuffed an egg roll in her mouth and used her napkin to wipe guacamole off the other twin's quesadilla? That was also me.
And I just want that young, hot guy who rolled his eyes and made that irritated little puff sound when I accidentally cut him off at the napkin dispenser to know that although I look like a nightmare, like every cliched, harried mom that you never, ever wanted to be married to, I am really a pretty nice person. I know I don't make it look easy. But that's only because it's not.
A thing I like