Real Moms

I have been tagged for the first time by Lizard Eater with the "Real Moms" meme. I'm so sorry, LE, that I am tardy posting on this subject! Without further ado, here is my response.

Real Moms Carry Kleenex

Since I became a mother, I have discovered that every pocket in my clothing contains either an empty string cheese/granola bar wrapper or one of those tiny packages of Kleenex (this in itself is disturbing, because I don’t recall ever buying them).

As a mother, you can no longer carry one of those adorable, beaded, postage stamp-sized purses like you used to. Remember the days of carrying only your identification, a tube of lipstick, and a couple $20 bills?

Being a mother requires being prepared for any natural disaster or act of God. If we suddenly became trapped in my vehicle for an entire week, I would likely emerge wearing a fresh coat of Cover Girl Almost Nude lipstick carrying a still sweet-smelling, smiling, well-nourished 2-year-old.

These days, my purse contains an extra diaper, wipes, baby powder-scented diaper disposal bag, an extra dose of reflux medication, Tylenol, iPod conveniently loaded with episodes of Sesame Street, packets of 50 SPF sunscreen, and a variety of portable snack foods -- and that’s just the top layer. This, of course, does not include my own personal hygiene and beauty products or items related to my own work or play. When my cell phone rings from the bowels of my purse, it is often impossible to locate it before the caller is sent to voicemail, as the phone itself works its way down beneath layers of these essential items far out of reach. There is a small circle permanantly etched on my checkbook cover from where a bottle of bubbles once precariously balanced in my purse as I toted it to the park.

It’s amazing a relatively small (read: 33 gallons) satchel can accommodate what my life requires. I think I have an explanation for this phenomenon. There are days I am quite positive that if I plunged my arm down through the depths of the paraphernalia in my purse, my hand would mysteriously emerge through a layer of winter clouds over a land called Narnia.