Sitting in our favorite corner booth at our favorite Mexican restaurant, my girlfriends and I were enjoying dinner, margaritas, and wine. The table next to us was packed with guys and girls, enjoying many more pitchers of margaritas than we were. They were a lot younger than us. They all looked like they spent a few hours a day at the gym. Their makeup was perfect. They hair was perfect. Every woman at the table had perfectly round breasts, results of a bra that gave that illusion or augmentation that guaranteed it. I looked down at my own chest…it’s hard finding descent bras for women with large breasts, and even though I had dished out a fair amount of money for the bra I was wearing (it was the first new bra I had bought in at least 5 years), my breasts did not look like theirs. My hair was in a messy bun because I had slept with it wet and I hadn’t managed to get 20 minutes of out my day to blow dry it. In a hurry, I had put half of my makeup on at a red light, and the other half in the parking lot of the restaurant we were at. As I looked the table next to us, young and having the time of their lives, I was surprised to find myself not wishing to be 25 again. At home, my husband had offered to put the kids to bed so that I could enjoy girl-time. And although our life is chaotic and crazy and I’ve never been a contender for any mother-of-the-year award, I love being a mother and I’m thankful that I have a husband who I like enough to want to share the crazy with.
When I found out (surprisingly) that I was pregnant 10 years ago, I never thought this would be what my life would turn out like. I thought I would have dinner on the table every day at a certain time; all my food would be organic and healthy. I’d never raise my voice at my kids or melt down in front of them, I’d be the epitome of calm and collected. I’d make sure my kids clothes were ironed every day and my house would look like something out of Better Homes and Garden. And that’s just not the way it turned out 🙂 More often than not, my dinners are whatever I can scramble together at the last minute. My daughter has seen me have a meltdown more than once, and each day that goes by I’m surprised that she hasn’t told me she needs therapy. Last week I left for work every day before anyone else had gotten up, and as a consequence, my daughter wore the same dress to school two days in a row (but she thought I had washed it!). And most days my house is one step away from being on an episode of Hoarders. But I am proud to be a nurse, blessed that it pays pretty well, and I’m lucky to love what I do. I love my life as a woman, and as a member of this surprisingly close-knit family, and I really really love my life as a nurse. My hair may not be perfect, my makeup may or may not be on, and who knows what my bra is doing…but pass me another glass of wine and I’ll thank my lucky stars while I’m drinking it that I have a family to go home to and a great job that keeps me in demand. Twenty-five was never this good 🙂
Until my next delivery ❤