It’s the weirdest thing. Ever since I became a mom, it’s like I’ve been reborn. It seems that no matter what I do there is always a sign across my forehead that reads “I’m a Mom.” It doesn’t matter that my ripped jeans are the complete opposite of “mom jeans,” because gleaming through those holes are parts of my mom skin.
What is it about me that just screams “mom” lately? Is it that last remaining bit of stretched skin on my tummy that serves as a constant reminder of the commitment I made to my kids, just as my wedding band serves as a constant reminder of the commitment I made to my husband?
Is it because I no longer walk into a room wearing four and a quarter inch heels and a new designer purse, but instead a pair of flats and a diaper bag?
Is it the faint undertone of sour milk in my classic perfume?
Is it my watchful eyes? The bags beneath them?
Is it because talking to a person without kids sometimes feels like I am conversing with an entirely different species? Because all I want to talk about is how my daughter has diarrhea right now. And I think she might be allergic to spinach. And is that normal? Wait, are you sleeping? Did I just put you to sleep? Oh, you are tired from being up at 2:00 a.m. last night. Phew. Finally, something we have in common. Except it is different, because you probably had your hand jammed down a Doritos bag and didn’t have a baby latched to your boob.
Tell me. Is it my constant state of nostalgia? Except, I yearn only for the moments that occurred AC, After Children. Is it the unfamiliar tears shed from simply packing away 3-6 month clothing?
Is it because carrying around a 14 pound baby somehow feels like I am carrying around the weight of the world?
What I do know is that no amount of money could turn me back. It is like once you’ve discovered God, freedom… sugar. I love this skin I’m in – this mom skin.