A coup? A support group? This got me thinking about mom jeans and what they represent. What is it about mom jeans that make us laugh and cringe at the same time? How can a pair of pants inspire so many exclamation points?
My fourteen-month-old enjoys dancing in the dining room to my favorite CDs. I call this "Music and Movement with Mama" and consider it a private lesson that I don't have to pay or change out of my pajamas for. My three-year-old enjoys cooking, so we make a lot of blueberry muffins and pita pizza.
"Ah! His head is flat!" I became obsessed. I went back and looked at pictures of Eli fresh from the womb. There he was with a perfectly round melon. I researched baby skulls and the malleability of the brain. I called our pediatrician and couldn't wait for a check-up.
If you are reading this while pregnant and therefore reaching numbers on the scale you have never seen before, congratulations and do not be alarmed. Please know this: You are not fat. You are pregnant. Your body is working like a retailer before Christmas readying itself to deliver.
"New motherhood is more difficult than any type of hazing I've ever heard about," my friend Holly commented the other night on the telephone. She's right. There is a certain amount of shock, determination, and honor in becoming a mother. There is endless laundry, exercises of trust and judgment...
My joy for my babes has always been fairly transparent. Put my three-year-old in front of me in a shining moment of cuteness or kindness or cleverness and I'm begging, groveling even, for hugs and kisses.
