By Shelle Lenssen
Motherhood has a very humanizing effect. Everything gets reduced to essentials.
~Meryl Streep
So, I had to go to the Winco for groceries. This is not an odd event; usually we do the grocery shopping once a week or so. On this particular Saturday morning, it was me and my daughter, eight-month-old Lana. We'd had a rough night. Lana was fighting a cold and needed some love in the middle of the night, so my good buddy Sleep and I didn't meet up until far too late.
Motherhood has a very humanizing effect. Everything gets reduced to essentials.
~Meryl Streep
So, I had to go to the Winco for groceries. This is not an odd event; usually we do the grocery shopping once a week or so. On this particular Saturday morning, it was me and my daughter, eight-month-old Lana. We'd had a rough night. Lana was fighting a cold and needed some love in the middle of the night, so my good buddy Sleep and I didn't meet up until far too late.
I'm usually not one to care much about what I look like at the grocery store, but that morning I set the bar especially low. I noticed as I was getting dressed that a spot of baby spit-up had dried on my jeans. I didn't bother to comb my hair and just threw it back in a ponytail. The right shoulder of my coat had bits of baby snot ground into the corduroy, and a giant red pimple had taken up residence below my left nostril. Let's just say my appearance was far less than appealing. But I didn't really care. I am a very goal-oriented person, and the goal of that moment was to get the groceries, not strut in a fashion show. Or so I thought.
As I hauled Lana, my purse and the re-usable shopping bags into the store, I noticed another mom doing the very same thing. Our actions were similar, but we couldn't have been more different. She was gorgeous in her fresh make-up, curled hair and trendy designer cardigan. Her denim capris were fitted and showed the world that post-baby weight was certainly not a problem for her. And her shoes, oh, her shoes! Her shoes are what really got my attention. She wore gorgeous, expensive-looking, strappy sandals with very high heels. She looked like a mom ready for a magazine photo shoot.
As I struggled with getting the baby seat situated on the shopping cart, Photo Shoot Mom breezed by me, having no trouble snapping her little girl in the cart. She looked at me, and we both gave each other a quick smile. I noticed her little daughter looked as if she just crawled out of a babyGap commercial. Her outfit was clean and pressed, and shiny blond curls framed her round, angelic face. She was adorable. Certainly not as adorable as Lana, but very lovely nonetheless. Photo Shoot Mom glanced at Lana, but instead of smiling, like most people do when they see her round cherub face, she kind of grimaced.
I looked at my daughter and saw why. Lana's runny nose was working overtime. She made it worse when she reached up with both hands and smeared snot all over her face. I dug through my purse for a tissue and cleaned up my baby as best as I could, but alas some had already dried on her chubby cheeks. Even the neck of her pink coat was decorated with dried snot. I imagined the judgmental thoughts this other mother must be thinking of me. I was a terrible wife because if I couldn't be bothered to look decent in public, how disheveled must I appear to my husband on a daily basis? And I was a terrible mother because everybody knows you must certainly lack proper parenting skills if your baby has a dirty face and clothes in the aisle of the grocery store. At that moment, I would have heartily agreed with what I thought she was thinking of me.
Apparently, Photo Shoot Mom and I "do" Winco in the same pattern, as it seemed I followed her from section to section. The whole time, she happily chatted to her babbling daughter. I fumbled with my list and dropped the coupons. My normally easygoing daughter was fussing and crying. Neither a binky nor a bottle would make her happy. A few other shoppers gave me sideways glances when Lana's cries grew especially loud. To top it off, she sneezed a few times, making her face an even bigger snot mess.
I kept watching Photo Shoot Mom and started to wonder about her. What kind of a life did she lead that she could look so lovely and well-rested on a Saturday morning? Surely she lived a life of leisure, and had a personal stylist and an entire domestic staff at her disposal. Surely she was not up at all hours in the night, rocking and comforting her sick baby. Surely her life was easy, and she glided through her days effortlessly. If, indeed, envy is a dragon with emerald eyes, my scales were starting to show, and my blue eyes were turning green.
Photo Shoot Mom and I checked out at the same time and walked across the parking lot to our cars. She loaded her groceries and child into her car, and I did the same. We both drove away, she presumably to her castle on the hill.
I had about a forty-minute drive home to dwell on the two very different mothers spending a portion of their morning at the Winco. I am ashamed to admit that I spent the majority of that time stewing in envy. I was jealous, plain and simple. I was mad that her charmed life appeared to be so easy, whereas I was struggling with mine.
A sound from the backseat jolted me out of my self-imposed pity party. In the mirror I saw Lana turn her head from one side to the other and then contentedly sigh as she drifted back to sleep. Even in her dirty coat and snot-smeared face, she was so beautiful. Right then I wanted to pull the car over and weep. How in the world could I ever be envious of anybody? There, in the backseat of my car, was more love and joy and happiness than some people experience in their entire lifetime.
I was humbled by an eight-month-old baby girl. Lana, beautiful, sweet, lovely Lana, was content to snuggle in her seat. Her desires were simple. She was happy to be held and rocked and fed and loved. She didn't know envy yet. I needed to be a good example for her so she wouldn't know about jealousy for a very long time. I also needed to take a lesson from my daughter and be pleased with what I have and with who I am. Sometimes, I forgot that I am blessed beyond measure, and I'm grateful for the tiny teacher in the backseat who was there to remind me.
As I hauled Lana, my purse and the re-usable shopping bags into the store, I noticed another mom doing the very same thing. Our actions were similar, but we couldn't have been more different. She was gorgeous in her fresh make-up, curled hair and trendy designer cardigan. Her denim capris were fitted and showed the world that post-baby weight was certainly not a problem for her. And her shoes, oh, her shoes! Her shoes are what really got my attention. She wore gorgeous, expensive-looking, strappy sandals with very high heels. She looked like a mom ready for a magazine photo shoot.
As I struggled with getting the baby seat situated on the shopping cart, Photo Shoot Mom breezed by me, having no trouble snapping her little girl in the cart. She looked at me, and we both gave each other a quick smile. I noticed her little daughter looked as if she just crawled out of a babyGap commercial. Her outfit was clean and pressed, and shiny blond curls framed her round, angelic face. She was adorable. Certainly not as adorable as Lana, but very lovely nonetheless. Photo Shoot Mom glanced at Lana, but instead of smiling, like most people do when they see her round cherub face, she kind of grimaced.
I looked at my daughter and saw why. Lana's runny nose was working overtime. She made it worse when she reached up with both hands and smeared snot all over her face. I dug through my purse for a tissue and cleaned up my baby as best as I could, but alas some had already dried on her chubby cheeks. Even the neck of her pink coat was decorated with dried snot. I imagined the judgmental thoughts this other mother must be thinking of me. I was a terrible wife because if I couldn't be bothered to look decent in public, how disheveled must I appear to my husband on a daily basis? And I was a terrible mother because everybody knows you must certainly lack proper parenting skills if your baby has a dirty face and clothes in the aisle of the grocery store. At that moment, I would have heartily agreed with what I thought she was thinking of me.
Apparently, Photo Shoot Mom and I "do" Winco in the same pattern, as it seemed I followed her from section to section. The whole time, she happily chatted to her babbling daughter. I fumbled with my list and dropped the coupons. My normally easygoing daughter was fussing and crying. Neither a binky nor a bottle would make her happy. A few other shoppers gave me sideways glances when Lana's cries grew especially loud. To top it off, she sneezed a few times, making her face an even bigger snot mess.
I kept watching Photo Shoot Mom and started to wonder about her. What kind of a life did she lead that she could look so lovely and well-rested on a Saturday morning? Surely she lived a life of leisure, and had a personal stylist and an entire domestic staff at her disposal. Surely she was not up at all hours in the night, rocking and comforting her sick baby. Surely her life was easy, and she glided through her days effortlessly. If, indeed, envy is a dragon with emerald eyes, my scales were starting to show, and my blue eyes were turning green.
Photo Shoot Mom and I checked out at the same time and walked across the parking lot to our cars. She loaded her groceries and child into her car, and I did the same. We both drove away, she presumably to her castle on the hill.
I had about a forty-minute drive home to dwell on the two very different mothers spending a portion of their morning at the Winco. I am ashamed to admit that I spent the majority of that time stewing in envy. I was jealous, plain and simple. I was mad that her charmed life appeared to be so easy, whereas I was struggling with mine.
A sound from the backseat jolted me out of my self-imposed pity party. In the mirror I saw Lana turn her head from one side to the other and then contentedly sigh as she drifted back to sleep. Even in her dirty coat and snot-smeared face, she was so beautiful. Right then I wanted to pull the car over and weep. How in the world could I ever be envious of anybody? There, in the backseat of my car, was more love and joy and happiness than some people experience in their entire lifetime.
I was humbled by an eight-month-old baby girl. Lana, beautiful, sweet, lovely Lana, was content to snuggle in her seat. Her desires were simple. She was happy to be held and rocked and fed and loved. She didn't know envy yet. I needed to be a good example for her so she wouldn't know about jealousy for a very long time. I also needed to take a lesson from my daughter and be pleased with what I have and with who I am. Sometimes, I forgot that I am blessed beyond measure, and I'm grateful for the tiny teacher in the backseat who was there to remind me.
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