I Won’t Always Be One of Them

I’m a part of a club.

People call us the “Young Moms”

(We really aren’t all that young)

We have young kids though.  Babies, toddlers, elementary-aged kids.  So because of that, we’re still referred to (especially by the generation above us) as “young mothers”.

We all understand the same things.

We understand that it’s completely possible to be busy…..painstakingly busy..for an entire day, and have absolutely nothing to show for it.

We understand that the so-called “witching hour” is a for real thing.  For real.

We understand things like having to get home NO LATER than noon, to make the 1:00 naptime.  Have you ever been to Chick-Fil-A, Target, the park, or any sort of indoor playscape around 12:30? It’s a veritable ghost town, because everyone has FLED to their homes.  You CANNOT  miss that naptime window, or you will screw your entire day, and all of us in the club know it.

Speaking of Target and Chick-Fil-A…we practically live at both places.  We see each other there often.  We smile encouragingly at one other, when one of our children is having a melt-down in the middle of an aisle.  We both sigh when our kids keep asking, “can I please have that? Can I please have THAT? Can I please have thatandthatandthatandthatandthat?”. We help keep each other’s children from smashing their fingers in the door to the playground area.

We see all the memes about coffee and wine, and sometimes think they are funny, sometimes think the whole “moms and their coffee and wine” joke is overused…but ultimately, we all make the same jokes, all guzzle both, and all recognize that we probably wouldn’t want to do life without either of them.

We talk to each other about the SAME.TOPICS.ALL.THE.TIME.  “I got an email from my kids teacher today”, “my kids are fighting NON-STOP.  Are yours??”, “What are you making for dinner tonight? I’m in such a cooking rut. Me too. Me too.  Me too.  Let’s swap recipes”. We discuss all sorts of things having to do with pee and poop.  All sorts of things having to do with husbands.  We are well aware of the fact that we talk about the same topics repeatedly.  On the rare occasion when someone who DOESN’T have kids is around us, we hear ourselves through their ears and know how horribly boring and mom-ish we sound, and yet…we can’t help ourselves.  These things are important.

We wonder, out loud to each other, “is it time to start talking to the kids about sex?”, “What do we DO about the fact that our kids make our husbands so grumpy?”

We understand that in March, you begin planning out summer activities, and so we frantically call each other trying to figure out which Summer Camp/VBS/Swim Team everyone is doing.

We are well acquainted with  Annie’s brand food and Meyer’s brand house cleaning products, and using them makes us feel better about our mothering, and really just our life in general.  We spend time contemplating organic, versus non…some of us comtemplate it longer than others…but we all contemplate it at least for a minute.

We have a language all our own.  We toss around words and phrases like “screen time”, and “use your words”, and “was that a good choice?”

We know more than we ever wanted to know about Minecraft and Storm Troopers.  Shopkins and Peppa the Pig.  The new kid movie that just came out, and exactly what minute in the movie we need to cover their eyes/ears.

We wear and talk about Lularoe.  (Some of us use the word “butter” as a descriptor waaaaaay too often)

We drink Unicorn Frappicinos.  (No we don’t).

We text each other all throughout the day, about all sorts of things, and our favorite emoticons are:

😳😩💩🤔🙏

And of course:

☕️🍷

We all kind of love each other, even if we don’t necessarily KNOW each other, because we are all united by a common bond.

Yes, we are definitely part of a club. We don’t think much about it now, because we are in it…OH how we are in it…and all of these things are just our norm.

We make up the Young Mom’s Club.  I am a proud member, for sure.

It occurred to me the other day though, this club I’m in, the one I take for granted, the one I feel like I’ve been a part of forever, the one I really can’t remember ever NOT being a member of…I won’t always be.

Eventually, I will get kicked out of the club.

I will become an Old Mom.

Then I will have an entirely different set of norms, rituals, conversation topics and vocabulary words.

I bet that is going to feel so strange, and maybe a little bit sad.

I will be at Target, alone, shopping, in peace, sipping a still-hot coffee, and I will see a member of the Young Moms Club. She will be frazzled and her baby will be crying, and she will be doing everything she can to just get the HELL out of there, and get home by 1:00 for naptime (probably driving through chick-fil-a on her way home for lunch), and I will think to myself, “Oh my gosh.  I remember those days.  It feels like yesterday.  I may even say that out loud to her.  She won’t understand or care though, that I once ran in the exact same circles as her, went to the same places, did the same things, had the same struggles, the same joys, the same conversations.  She won’t understand or care because she will still BE in the club.

And if I’m honest, I’m already a little bit jealous of her.

 

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