Whatcha got there?

Hudson and I try to get out as much as possible. It's a nice break to get out of the house and it often helps keep him on schedule. With the extreme heat lately, it's been harder to be out and about, but we try.

Last Wednesday, on the eve of my birthday, I decided Hudson and I were due for a shopping trip. I showered and dressed, even dried my hair. I gave Hud a bath and got him dressed and ready to go. We parked at Nordstrom and I sat him into his brand new umbrella stroller. I was pretty proud. For once, I felt put-together. My son was clean, I was clean, (yes, it's rather sad how my standards of what put-together now means). Yes, we were ready to go.

We entered the store and set out to find the elevator. I stopped in the shoe department and milled around, admiring some of the beautiful high heels that my mom feet can't seem to tolerate any longer. I smiled as strangers approached my son and talked with him. I continued to push the stroller, lost in a world where heels didn't hurt my feet and I always had somewhere to wear strappy sparkly sandals. Pulling myself back to reality, we moved toward the elevator, pushed the button and waited.


As the door opened and we boarded an attractive blonde woman in her early 20s followed us. As the doors closed, she looked down at Hudson and began talking with him. "You are very handsome," she said, "and what a beautiful smile you have." As she went on about how cute he was I looked at her, her trendy outfit, her flawless makeup, her perfect french manicure, fresh highlights. She reminded me of someone I knew not too long ago... myself.

I smiled laughing at how things change, but yet rather proud that I was still "put-together" in my mind. Sure, I was on the eve of my 31st birthday, but I hadn't just let myself go completely. No, I wasn't one of "those" women and I could stand up any day to these 20-somethings.

As my daydreaming tends to, it was brought to an abrupt halt by her speaking once again. "Whatcha got there, buddy?" she asked Hudson inquisitively.

I whipped the stroller around to see my son with his usual squinty dimply smile proudly holding out a drool covered rubber spatula.

Just when I thought I had it together. I guess this 31 year old isn't quite that same girl I once was. Being a mom really does change everything.


But wait! Does it help my "coolness factor" that it was a silicone Williams-Sonoma spatula?

No?

I didn't think so either. It was worth a shot.