A Perfect Metaphor for Motherhood. Or something.

Remember the days when “Me” time was whole day spent doing…well, whatever it was that you wanted? For some it was the spa (well, for me), or shopping (also guilty as charged), or camping (not on your life, but more power to ya!), or running (Gerlock, I am looking at you…with amazement!). Then we had kids and “ME” time became a trip to the grocery store or hallelujah, Target ALL BY OURSELVES? I feel I can state this with a fair amount of certainty due to the insane frequency of excited tweets regarding this whenever any one of us makes an escape from our oh-so-beloved minions and makes our way out into the world unincumberd by tiny hands reaching out to grab whatever it is we happen to pass by.

Chances of having some food, or kid residue of some kind unnoticed upon our clothing as we walk through the world? High.

My in-laws got me a metric ton of gift cards this year for my birthday. Starbucks. Nordstrom. H&M. To name a few. They know me so well. Zach and I had an errand to run so we loaded the kids into the car and headed out. And ooooo. Nordstrom Rack was right.next.door. Luckily for me, my darling man likes to shop almost as much as I do…or maybe not luckily. Whatever, his conference was coming up and he needed clothes.  So into Nordstrom we went. I bought Huckleberry some kicks. He looks fly #forawhiteguy.

Then the choir of angels sang and the God rays hit a bag…I have a real problem with purses, and addiction really, and Mumsy will tell you that it started early. I went through several school bags each year.

Because, reasons.

It pained me, pained me to walk away from this bag. Calvin Klein, which I don’t believe I’ve ever bought one of his…but this bag. It spoke to me. Probably because it’s a total knock off of a Micheal Kors, but whatever. I love it, and it loved me and I had to leave it there. So I did what I always do. I put it on hold. Sure someone might buy it, but not while I am in the vicinity. Then I remembered…GIFT CERTIFICATE! It was then that I used my terrible math skills to make deals in my mind. I announced to Zach “I’m going to get a big paycheck today and go back and get that bag.” Then the mail came, and my paycheck came, and I went back and got that bag.

Oh, I love it. It carries everything and I feel like a million bucks carrying it. It made me happy to my toes. A glimpse of my former glamorous no need to worry if I have wipes or fruit snacks life, and yet it is big enough to make sure that I do have both wipes and fruit snacks at all times.

Then sweet Super-fly Huckleberry decided that the perfect place to dump out his milk was-you got it- my bag.

I may or may not have cried a tear or two. Or a hundred. Poor bag. Not even three days old and already baptized in the ways of baby. Through the power of twitter people rallied to support me and tell me how to save my bag. She is saved. A tiny bit worse for wear, but certainly not smelling of old milk, thank God. Now she is just like me….she may look good at first glance, but look closer and there is definitely some left over baby residue of some kind.

It adds character, and let’s be honest, happiness.

5 thoughts on “A Perfect Metaphor for Motherhood. Or something.

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