Over the loud music of a car ride home we would talk about the future.
Ever the dreamer and planner, I had it all figured out.
I would never wear mom-sweats (today’s yoga pant).
Makeup would be a must before leaving the house.
My pedicured foot would never touch the gas pedal of a minivan, only an SUV would do.
I would balance the corporate world and motherhood perfectly, my college degree far to important to “waste.”
And I would never let myself go “down hill” just because I was older and married and comfortable.
My future, prince-charming of a husband would be so lucky. I would be the mom husbands dreamt of having.
Fast forward many years, children and countless lessons in the realities of life, and there is so much I wish I could tell my disillusioned, teenage self.
I wish I could have told her that life is not about looks and what kind of car you drive.
That with age comes experience and confidence and being true to who you are.
That being a mom, a good mom, has so much more to do with your heart and your spirit than what you wear to your first Mommy and Me class.
That turning the head of a guy when you look your best, pales in comparison to having a husband who will hold your hand and wipe your tears when you’re at your worst.
And your worth, what you truly feel good about, has nothing to do with what anyone thinks, except for those beautiful little people kissing your make up free cheek or tugging your yoga pants, as you lift them quickly into the minivan because you’re late for a very important meeting… lunch with their Daddy.
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