The other day, I found myself doing something I SWORE I would never do: I reached over and scrubbed something off the kid’s cheek using just my finger and my spit. Like other parental units before me, I now believe my saliva can defeat any food remnant/dried mucus that dare mar my child’s face.
And I’m a bit of a germaphobe.
That’s when realized… I’ve officially become a mom.
I’m not talking about being a parent — which, to me, is more about the day to day minutiae of child rearing — I’m talking about becoming a MOM. More specifically, one of THOSE MOMS.
You know the type - the type I promised I wouldn’t become back when I was single. Nope, I thought, when I’m fortunate enough to become a mother: I wouldn’t let my kid become the center of my universe, I wouldn’t forget that I was a wife as well as a mom (the hubs and I would have date night once a week!) and I wouldn’t abandon my friends/social life just because I had a child.
It could’ve happened. Could have. But, alas…
- Do I bring up my child, no matter the conversation?
“Speaking of the season finale of ‘The Killing,’ did I mention that the kid can blow bubbles using snot?”
- Do I email photos of my offspring to people whether or not they’ve asked for them?
“Dear Person I just met at the supermarket, did I show you these pictures of the kid blowing bubbles with snot?”
- Do I have date night with the hubs once a week? Okay, now I’m laughing.
- And when we do finally go out on said date night, what’s the topic of conversation?
Hubs (re: photo on my phone): Are those snot bubbles?
Me (nodding; proud): Clearly the kid’s a genius.
- Do I think my progeny is the most brilliant thing to ever walk the planet? See above.
As for keeping up with my friends and maintaining a social life…
Does texting count?
The final clue of my transformation:
me, pre-wedding, pre-kid
Yep. I got the Mom haircut. Gone are the long, luxurious locks the hubs prefers. In its stead, a do that hopefully won’t get yanked, jerked or pulled out by the kid’s deft/nimble/surprisingly strong fingers.
So, yeah, I admit it. I may have gone over to the dark side, but I draw the line at Mom jeans (although, I hear they’re rather comfy, and if it means not having to worry about having plumber’s crack…)