One of our nieces gave birth to her first child today, and another niece had a baby a couple of weeks ago. Aside from reminding me that I am old enough to be a great-aunt, these brand new babies bring back memories of when my children were newborns.
You know? Those times when I got no sleep. Those times when I walked around with circles of milk on the front of my shirt, spit-up on my shoulder, and my hair unwashed most of the time. Ah…good times, good times.
When my son was born, my daughter attended a preschool where dismissal was a nightmare. Crowds of moms, kids, strollers, and toddlers, all confined in a five foot wide hallway. The only nice thing, was that there was literally no room for small talk. I felt safe picking up my daughter looking unkempt.
But one day when I arrived without make-up, in my husband’s sweatpants, an over-sized sweatshirt, and a hat to hide my greasy head, all the moms in that hallway turned to greet me with uproarious laughter.
I looked bad, but I didn’t look that bad. I quickly peeked down to see if I had bodily fluids on my shirt, but realized I was all clean. Baggy maybe, but not dirty. Though I certainly wasn’t in any condition for “all eyes on me”.
As I approached the door to the classroom, I found out why I was so popular. The roughly 60 year-old teacher had taped up a piece of paper with, “How old is Mrs. H?” printed on top. Underneath, there was a list of the kids’ names and their best guess at their teacher’s age.
Most kids guessed 40, some 50, and one even guessed 92.
But, my daughter? Well, she apparently didn’t care what I looked like, or whether she would draw attention to her frumpy mom, when she said her teacher was 100,000 years old.