When the girl was first born I didn't work full time. I stayed home with her mostly, raising her to be the cutie-patootie smart-ass she is today. Cook, clean, play with baby, go for a walk maybe, clean more...clean clean clean...soon you stop wearing make up because there's no one to see. You stop blow drying your hair each morning for the same reason. You wear comfortable sweats or jeans with a sweatshirt and sneakers everyday because...well...who are you impressing? You're a mom and this is the mom uniform.
When the girl was 2.5 I went to work full time, corporate style. Pencil skirt, woven shirt, stilettos, make up, blown out hair...
I like this version of me. It's the pretty me.
I'm still a mom. I still clean, cook, play with the girl. I still do mom things. I just don't wear the mom uniform anymore.
On the rare occasion that I can go pick up the girl from school, meaning, she does not take the bus to her afterschool program, I get to see the other moms. They are all in the mom uniform. All of them. ALL of them. None have converted, like me. I'm an alien. An outcast. A WITCH! They stare down at me...in their house coats...their sweatshirts that are holiday themed if a holiday is near. They hate me. They won't even talk to me. I used to be one of you...bitches. I stand alone.
Girl joined girlscouts. She is a Daisy. It was cut throat to get her in. I nearly had to sell my soul to the girlscout leader herself. Met all the other moms at the Halloween party last week, eager to make friends...guess what?
Curlers. Housecoats. Sweatshirts. Mom jeans. Keds. KEDS!
I tried to talk to each little group but they'd find a way to break away one by one and reconvene elsewhere, far from me. For real. It's like a peanuts cartoon and I'm pigpen...no one can stand to be near me.
No comments:
Post a Comment