Motherhood is Overrated

Oh joy. Bliss. Elation. Glee.
This past weekend, I celebrated hitting the twenty twenty pounds lost mark. And I was so very, very happy.

Until I went shopping on Saturday.

With teenage daughter, Olivia and Dylan.

I needed some career clothes now that I'm "wasting away" (according to reader from Huntington Beach, CA) but somehow, I became delusional and wandered into the bathing suit section. My tummy is pretty flat these days so I thought I'd try on a few bikinis. Like I said, D E L U S I O N A L. The dressing room was equipped with a three way mirror and everything was fine until I had a gander at my backside. In that moment, I clearly understood why human beings were never given the flexibility options of an owl. It wasn't pretty. I distinctly remember thinking, "Jesus, where did THAT come from and how the hell did it get so WIDE?"

After recovering from the shock, I refocused my attentions and got back to business. I didn't have another peek at my ass because I am not one of those people who feels compelled to slow down and get a good look at the wreckage on the side of the road. I only need to be horrified once.

Teenage daughter, in all her youthful perkiness, had parked herself in the dressing room beside me. Olivia was in the toy section of the store and Dylan was busy pulling the wings off of stray flies or something like that. He was having himself one of those shithead days which seem to be occurring more frequently of late. Everything out of his mouth is either sarcastic, sullen or angry. Have I told you recently that adolescence sucks? Um, yeah.

Anyway, thirty minutes go by while teenage daughter and I worked our way through a basket full of clothes. Suddenly, Olivia entered the dressing room and pushed her way into my stall. Her eyes were wet with recent tears.

"I have to tell you something," she said and I felt my stomach clench involuntarily. I was thinking that one of two things had happened. She had either pooped her pants (don't ask) or broken something in the store.

I waited and she didn't say anything.

"Why are you crying?" I asked.

"Dylan told me NOT to tell you. He said you'd be mad." Oh, no. Oh, no. OH NO! I had visions of him pushing her into a shelf full of china.

So, I pulled the mother card and told her that she had better spill the beans or I'd punish her. Still, she resisted.

"Did he break something?" I asked.

"No. Worse"

"Did he hit you?"

"No mama. It was worse than that."

At this point, the dressing room is silent except for the conversation happening between me and Olivia. I could actually feel the other mothers in the room holding their breath.

"Livvie baby, what happened, honey?"

She teared up, grabbed my hand and finally confessed.

"He locked me in a cage and I got stuck and I COULDN'T get out and I cried and he couldn't get me out and then some people came over and helped us but mama you can't tell Dylan I told you."

"A...a..cage?" I was confused. "You mean the BIRDCAGE?!!!"

"Yes."

Teenage daughter couldn't hold it one second longer and burst out laughing which started a chain reaction in the dressing room. I quickly scanned Olivia for cuts and bruises and then sat down on the bench trying to figure out how to get out of the store without being seen.

I was THAT mother.

The one that lets her children run WILD in the store so that she can shop. Sympathetic strangers extracted my six year old from a birdcage.

A BIRDCAGE.

So, I did what any woman would do. I pretended that NOTHING weird had happened. I walked out of the dressing room and straight for the check out. I didn't acknowledge my children even though Olivia trailed behind me chanting, "Mama. Mama. MAMA!" I was deaf and determined. I looked straight ahead.

I paid. They bagged. I left.

Once we were safely ensconced in the car and headed home, I allowed myself a giggle. After all, can you imagine the surprise of the kind people who got Olivia out of the cage when they saw she was a one brow wonder?

Oh yes. I'm THAT mother.