The other morning, while dropping Jack off at school, I bent to kiss him and realized he still had a smudge of chocolate on his nose from ice cream the night before. Without skipping a beat, I licked my finger and wiped my son’s nose.
And then it hit me.
I am “that” mom. You know the one. That mom who does things like licking her finger and wiping her kid’s face.
That mom who’s kid has a tantrum in the restaurant and ignores it as long as possible to simultaneously not reinforce undesired behavior, and finish her fries? That’s me.
That mom who feels totally comfortable telling someone else’s kid to back the hell off when they are playing with a stick too close to my kid? That’s me.
That mom who sheds copious tears when her baby “graduates” to the toddler classroom.
That mom who has no problem telling her kid’s teacher that her kid is being bullied and it needs to be addressed and stopped post-haste or else.
I’ve become that mom who lectures about the “starving kids in China,” who threatens to throw out all the toys that are left out on the floor, and complains about how she does not have “money to burn”. I am that mom who threatens to take away Christmas, but never, ever would.
That mom who takes an extra ten minutes in the bathroom because it is the only door in the house that locks and she really needs a break.
That mom who wears gaudy and asymmetrical necklaces made by her child to work.
That mom who carries or wears her toddler who is perfectly capable of walking.
I’m that mom in Babies R Us who sits down in one of the floor model rockers to nurse her baby, because baby is hungry and the “Mother’s Room” is a filthy someplace she would not feed a dead dog. That mom who posts memes on Facebook about how “breast is best,” and maybe, just maybe, gets a little judgey about people who don’t even try to nurse their babies. I am that mom who co-sleeps and nurses baby to sleep every night without fail. I’m that mom who will nurse until her toddler is three or four or 100% ready to wean on her own.
That mom who shoves pictures of her kid in your face.
That mom with un-dyed roots, saggy, baggy, wrinkly eyes, and the pony tail. That mom who looks like she just doesn’t give a crap about her appearance anymore.
That mom who gets a little prickly and pissy once or twice a week, raises her voice, and then feels miserable about it for the rest of the night.
I am that mom who doesn’t like hugging or touching because she is all touched out from having her kids climb over her 24/7.
That mom who’s entire day revolves around coming home to have hugs and kisses from her kids, who longs for their smells and sounds all day long. I am that mom who is surprised to discover how hard it can be to be with her kids, and also how wrenching it is to be apart from them.
Maybe you are that mom too, just like me.
Or, maybe you are that other mom who hates on moms like me.
If you are the latter, well, I just don’t care. Because I am proud to be the former. Yup. I’m THAT mom.