Confidence

A while back Eliza passed me a page out of her coloring book (the one that never seems to run out of hideous pictures) that she had been working on and said, "Mom, this is you when you're older."
I hope she wasn't talking about the dog.

And as if that weren't enough for my self-esteem, last week she asked me, "Is this how you spell 'Mom'--B-U-M"?

And when you throw in yesterday's squishy bum comment, you might be wondering, as I am known to do between the hours of 3pm and 5pm on weekdays, if the pay is worth all the emotional abuse I suffer on the job.

It's a wonder I have any self-esteem left at all.

But the funny thing is--and I am certain about this--being a mom gives me confidence. Maybe not confidence to prance around in a bikini or win a political debate (okay, definitely not to do those things). But I certainly have confidence in my ability to distract children in a long checkout line, or to think of a creative solution when one child has an accident in a public place where I am without a diaperbag. Or to get stains out of clothes, or to shop for a week's worth of groceries in under 10 minutes (when 11 minutes=mutiny).

I am confident that I have chosen the right occupation. Even though my job sometimes pays me in extra pounds around the midsection, it also pays me in countless little kisses and in "I love Mom" signs, and in ten second back scratches from little hands (or bum massages from little feet).


I'm not giving my thirty days notice yet. To my boss or to Weight Watchers. But maybe to my hairdresser (the one that makes me look like a poodle).