Miss Popularity

I wasn't popular in high school.  I was the scrawny, smart "goody-goody" girl.  I remember going for my driver's license at age 16 and telling the woman at the DMV my weight.  103.  I was mortified when my license came out of the machine reading 130.  Ironically, almost twenty years later, 130 is still wrong--but this time it's too LOW. . . haha!  I finally grew in college--filling out AND gaining several inches.  I remember running into an old prom date and his first words:  "Whoa.  You grew boobs."  Thanks, buddy.   Lucky for me, I was in a class of great kids so we were all "unpopular" together.  Boob-challenged band brainiacs.  :)  And note to hubby:  when your high school has 120 kids and 100 are in the band, band IS cool!

I feel like I'm getting better with age.  I grew boobs. . . then had two children and lost them somewhere. . .  teeth are straighter, hair. . .   let's be honest:  anything is better than the feathered mullet I rocked way back in the day. . . and clothes from the early 90s are GONE.  Eighteen years after graduation, I'm FINALLY the most popular girl around.  With my two year old.

That child.  I told R the other day that our children might be bi-polar.  I can't figure them out.  Spunky, spirited Stinkus is the biggest Mama's girl.  She will get up at bedtime (which could totally be a stall tactic that I'm falling for) to cuddle with me and I get the heart-wrenching plea:  "I just want yooooooouuuuu, Maaaaaamaaaaaa. . . ."  Drop-off at daycare is getting better, but heaven forbid, I take off and leave her with Daddy and Sassy for a night.  For being as independent and hard-headed as she is, that girl needs her mommy.  And most of the time, I'll admit--it's pretty awesome.  But there are other times when I've had enough.  Like last week when she wouldn't let me put her down so I could cook dinner and unload the dishwasher.  Or when she won't let Daddy brush her teeth like he's been doing every night for years because he's not Mama.  And Mama HAS to do everything.        

I have to remind myself that this is the same baby who couldn't fall asleep those first few weeks at home without laying next to me on the couch.  And as exhausted and frustrated as I was, it was pretty sweet to doze off and find that she had curled up toward me--her little heart against mine, peaceful and asleep--at last.  

And once again, I have to remind myself that these days are numbered.  Someday she'll come home from school and make a beeline for her bedroom and slam the door because of something that happened that day.  And she'll think that there's no way her mom would understand.  She WON'T want me.  She won't want to hear my advice:  that high school (thank goodness) doesn't last forever, boobs are totally overrated until you can use them to feed your babies for the first year of their lives, and nothing beats being the most popular girl. . . in the eyes of your two year old.