I Am

I admit it. I am the mom of an infant. A mommy aka mama aka walking burp cloth aka life-sized soothie aka human bottle aka mother of my husband's child.

I wear ponytails and cut-offs everyday. Fashion no longer exists. I eat Lean Cuisine during nap times and fantasize about cheap coffee. I think drool is cute and inspect poop.

Tonight my husband urges me to sneak out for the evening. It's a pleasant night. Warm and welcoming. People are out. People that don't have children. Or at least children under 3. Or at least that know better not to be out with children under 3 at this time...

I acquiesce, and go. Armed with my laptop but still donning the cut-off jeans -- my new staple. I look forward to getting some stuff done in an environment bubbling over with non-baby-related chatter. The evening is plump with potential. The city is my big fat Pacific Oyster!

I end up going to my favorite coffee shop on the west side. I go in, snag the best seat, get a decaf earl grey and pecan tart and I'm set. They are playing some really good reggae. The scene is hip. I am feeling great... until it kicks in: The Mommy Clock.

Just as I settle in to my evening alone, I feel the tick... tick tock tick tock... time for bed! time for bed! It sounded like a loud obnoxious talking parrot in my head. I try to hit the mental snooze button but it gets LOUDER. The parrot starts popping out every five minutes, time for bed, time for bed. "Noooo! I must stay out!" I tell myself. For the sake of freedom, creativity, women everywhere, world peace, starving children, and for ME!

Ten minutes later, I'm behind my steering wheel. Fighting to keep my eyes open as I drive home. "Hi," I say to my husband as I walk through the door. He looks up, "Hi?"

Lights out.

I am now truly a mom.