I am no longer the youngest mom.
I have always been the youngest mom at preschool, playgroup, and the PTA due to the fact that I married my college sweetheart and practically gave birth at his dental school graduation.
Today, as I looked around during the sign-ups for preschool 2009-10
at two separate preschools I realized that there was a new influx of mothers. I was registering my third child. My baby. My last child for the two's program at my children's preschool. Which is more like a glorified and organized play date to give mothers a well deserved 2.5 hours a week of sanity. I tried very hard to hold back my tears as four years of preschool teachers exclaimed "No way... you were just pregnant!" I nodded my head, smiled, and took my place in line amongst the youngest group of mothers signing their first borns up for school. Some dressed in their Sunday's best, others pregnantly plump with their second, and a few carrying sweet infants bundled up. All very well manicured feeding their children organic rice bars over monogrammed bibs to keep them awake during nap time. And then it hit me and I wiped away my tears. I looked over at the Feenster with her dirty lovie and un-sanitized pacifier minutes before she fell to the floor in an angry rage screaming "night-night now" and threw her pacifier across the room which landed a mere inches away from some toddler's polished Aster mary janes.
Oh my gawd... I hope she's not put into a class full of first borns.
Standing amongst the new mothers this morning at sign-ups, I remembered being in their shoes feeding my child organic snack bars with grand plans on volunteering at school every chance I got, and I realized that those children don't stand a chance around an overly confident and stubborn third child with older siblings who hoards her toys. We have until September to work on sharing, no? Moreso, I don't stand a chance on fitting in with the new mommies. What would they say about eating pop tarts in bed?
And then I got quickly over it because I realized all the free time I would have to myself next year. With 2.5 hours a week to myself, I could quite possibly solve the national deficit. I will have TWO HOURS to my lonesome self per week. Squeal. And when she's enrolled in kindergarten I could quite possibly run for Congress, or something.