10/29/12

touch

Since I've become a mother I rarely think badly or judge another mother. You have no idea what she's going through, and what she's dealing with. So I just try to help and be kind. But I was surprised at the behavior I saw at Carl's Junior today. This mother was dressed to a tea, with high heel boots, a tight, charcoal grey pencil skirt, and a black turtle neck. Not a bleached blonde hair out of place. Her son was probably seven, and really acting out. He was ignoring her, making a mess, being rude. After he ignored her command to get his shoes on for a third time, she finally walked over to him and sat him down to put his shoes on herself. And then, very loudly, I heard her tell her son: "Don't touch me. Don't touch my hair." She was restraining his arms and I could see all he wanted to do was muss her hair with his sticky, ketchup fingers.
Suddenly I didn't feel too bad about my ugly old jeans I've been wearing for four years, my faded shirt, my scuffed shoes. Its easy for me to feel ugly these days, I've gained some 20 pounds since I was first pregnant with twins, and some 40 pounds since I got married six years ago. Stretch marks, white hairs, mama flab. We have little to no budget for my clothes, or haircuts, so I wear old clothes all the time, and my hair is always in a braid.
But seeing this mom made me feel like I made the better choice, because I let my kids touch me.

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