I'm a mom.
I'm a mom. Complete with a large car, some bod-frumpy-lumps, top knot go-to hair, active wear on the daily, coffee in hand... its not a glamorous title. (but I can change a kid and sheets in the dark.) its not a sexy image. (but I know all the words to Big Block Sing Song.) As much as it may come naturally to someone who has 5 younger siblings... It was kind of hard to own it as part of my identity. What? trade in my freedom, skinny bod and the agenda of moi to be a mom? Before I had my first I kind of hoped to pull off that "gap model barely look like I sneeze let a lone never sleep" perfect mom look. (as I type this i'm scarfing down a handful of goldfish and washing them down with the last sip of my now very cold cup of coffee from this morning) This is not a glam life. As a mom (or dad, but I speak for the moms since I am one, but since I'm married to a dad I can say they're totes in this category too) we give pretty much nonstop. It is a hit the...
