I admit it.....I tend to be jealous. It's not something I'm proud of and I have a tough time admitting it, but it's the truth. And the worst part is, I get jealous about things that may not even be true. Being a working mom, I am jealous of those who dont' have too work and can stay home and not miss a moment of their childs life. I am jealous of the women with storybook lives. The amazing wedding, with more bridesmaids than I can count, the reception, the first dance to a song that meant something to the happy couple. The toasts, the cake....The husband who works so they don't have too. Who is supportive, who is a great father, and knows the importance of kids coming first. I'm jealous of the women who I never seem to run into when they are having a bad hair day. Yet somehow, everytime I run into them, it's not my best day!
I was at a dreaded birthday party last weekend. It was a party for one of my son's little friends at an arcade/kids fun zone type of place. Anyway, of course it was for one of the "perfect" families that I dread running into. The ones I see out grocery shopping together, doing things together, laughing, smiling together. The couple who always looks amazing. Perfect hair, outfit, make -up, blah blah blah. And then there's me.....my son had soccer that morning so I am totally wearing my soccer mom gear, ball cap, t-shirt and running pants with sneakers. We go directly from soccer then home to change my son and wrap the gift. Of course we're running late so I have no time to change or put on make-up...nothing. Jax is excited to get there, been talking about it all week. Me...i'm just biting my tongue and looking forward to it being over. We walk in, kids are having a blast, I find myself way underdressed for the occasion. B-day boys' mom looks fantastic as always, as if she just came from the salon. B-day dad is the happy father, video taping and obeying his wifes every command. They of course, make small talk with me and I laugh and pretend that I actually fit in with these people. I am suddenly back in high school. The poor girl, with jacked up hair and clothes from the thrift store. Why do I do this to myself? Why haven't I gotten over that yet? And why does it still bother me? uuuuuugh!
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