You know that mom who struggles? The mom you see with white acne medication on her face because she forgot to wash it off before she left home? The one wearing sweat pants she slept in the night before and baby barf on her shoulder? The one whose hair is stuffed in a ball cap while her kids try to rip it off? Yep, that struggling mom. Alright, my name is Tasha and I am a struggling mom. Uhhh…. exactly that mom as a matter of fact. It was me this morning wearing that very stunning make-up and outfit combination while running a couple of errands including mailing a birthday present to my soon to be 4 year old niece. They – whoever that is – say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Well, I admit it. Now, I realize it’s not all about me and the needs of my children, but if you’re someone going to the post office with one letter in your hand and have no little people hanging off you, could you help a struggling mom out? The one word answer to that question is apparently no. The guy just stood there behind me rolling his eyes, sighing, and waiting with his arms at his side for me to struggle my way into the government facility. You struggling moms know the move. It’s the one where you heave open the door with one arm and hold it open with your foot while nudging in your two year old while swinging in the car seat holding the baby and trying to jump in yourself before the door hits you in the head. It’s the mom approved method handed down from generation to generation, but we really only use it when it’s absolutely positively necessary and when no one else is around. You never ever pull it out when someone is standing literally inches behind you. I don’t get it. I really don’t. Well, I refuse to be a victim. I just looked this guy straight in the eye and said ‘I’m struggling here.’ ‘Can you hold the door for me, please?’ He looked at me like it was the most crazy request he had ever heard. And get this – this is the best part of the story – he made that noise you make when you just do not want to do what’s being asked of you. It’s kind of like a tongue click, sigh, grunt combo. You become an expert at it when you’re a teenager. THAT’S THE NOISE HE MADE! He opened the door though. Guess what? He opened the next door too. I didn’t even need to ask. What a guy.
Related posts:
ugh, i hear you. tasha i just found your blog and i LOVE it.
i had a similar sitch when i was pregnant with my baby charlotte. except i had a door slammed in my pregnant face at target. boo for dummies.
.-= devon spec´s last blog ..design on a dime… =-.