Slummy Mummy

Newsflash:
It has been confirmed that I am definitely a Slummy Mummy. I went to the curriculum meeting at Annabelle’s preschool tonight with all the mothers with their blow-dried hair and impeccable suits.
I was the one with chocolate fingerprints all over my skirt, oatmeal dripped down the front (don’t ask me how this happened–I changed my shirt right before leaving), and hair that hadn’t been combed, possibly since I awoke this morning.
On the positive side, my toenails are painted a delicious Malaga Wine with fuschia polka dots (Annabelle’s influence) and my legs were smoothly shaved (don’t ask me how this was achieved since I’m lucky to have five minutes to take a shower at night after the munchkins go to sleep).
The munchkins who usually go to sleep at 7pm like clockwork have been stretching their bedtimes by an hour or two.
As hard as that is, I wouldn’t trade the moments I had tonight holding Henry’s soft round body in my arms, his silky baby hair tickling my chin, his small heart beating against mine, the smell of baby powder wafting through the air, looking out the nursery window at a perfect crescent moon with one bright star above it.
Nevermind that when I went to brush my teeth tonight I had cheese smeared down the front of my shirt along with the oatmeal.
Slummy mummy indeed.