The Dirty Mommy Club

The grocery store I shop at is a relatively small one.  Combine that with the fact that I'm there 27 times a week (the cookie club isn't just for kids you know), and it's pretty much guaranteed that I will encounter someone I know. Today, I encountered Mary (name changed to protect the innocent).

Mary has been working at this grocery store since I started shopping there over 6 years ago. She has seen me in a variety of shapes and states of mind over the years.  Mary also lives in my neighborhood, so the kids and I see her walking her dog from time to time.  

My day started ridiculously early thanks to my son's new sleeping patterns.  We had conquered breakfast, the park, a walk, snack, and coloring by 10am.  Next up, grocery shopping.  So off to the store we headed.  

It is inevitable that I end up buying more than intended (cue new chocolate Goldfish crackers) and thus spend more time at the grocery store than anticipated.  Today was no exception.

As we approached the check out, Mary was just starting her shift.  We chatted as I unloaded the groceries with Bug's help (announcement: Clean up at checkout 3. Cue packer to fetch new 18 pack of eggs).  Bean started to get fussy and Monkey was, well, monkeying around.  Mary was updating me on some goings on in her life when Bean started the all out wail.  This child half cried and half screamed so loudly that she garnered the attention of half the store.  Simultaneously, Monkey had had enough of sitting in the cart and started to yell his own bloody murder.  Me?  I walked away to the wine store across the aisle and bought a magnum of cheap chardonnay.  Oh wait, that's what I wished I could do.  Instead I furiously started cramming groceries into my bags.

Mary, being a mother herself of 2 grown boys, chose that moment to reflect on how quickly the time flies (it does) and how she would trade the problems of her son now to the crying boy he was many years ago.  I nodded and agreed with Mary, and continued to throw groceries into my cart while searching for my wallet.  

After totally up my bill, and waiting for me to find said wallet, Mary said to me "You look good".  I stopped for a moment, laughed and said thank you.  She then said "You don't think you do, but you do.  You look like a Mom".  I paused again, looked Mary in the eyes and thanked her again.  Mary handed me my receipt, told me to enjoy my weekend and that we'd see each other again soon.

I walked away in a somewhat baffled state.  What does "look like a Mom" mean?  Is it even a compliment?  Does it mean you look like a Mom because you have bags under your eyes, clothes with spit up on the shoulder, a bigger ass than ever in your whole life, and a harried look on your face as you search for something amid screaming kids?  Or does it mean that you have love in your eyes, dried slobber kisses on your cheeks, and  bigger boobs than ever before in your life?  

The comment still gave me pause as I contemplated the possibilities of meanings. And then I remembered.  I hadn't showered yet that morning.  Ahhhh.  I look like Dirty Mommy.

Cheers Dirties