The Exotic Ramblings of a Mom

Society often defines us by our jobs. “What do you do?” is often the first question uttered after the introduction. I used to find this inquiry awkward once I decided to be a “stay-at-home-mom” or “homemaker” or “house elf” or  whatever word you want to use to make it sound more exotic and less neurotic.

The problem is, it is never exotic (unless you count running through the house in your bra because your shirt was just puked on, or squeezing in a Saturday morning quickie with the soft and soothing sounds of Dora the Explorer as your background music while praying your kids don’t come up looking for more juice).  But what the job description lacks in prestige, it more than makes up for in excitement and adventure.  There’s never a dull moment.

This is a job that’s not for everyone.  Some moms thrive in the constant chaos of cries and cookie-smeared couches.  Others can’t wait to escape to their nine-to-fives, ensuring their sanity and longevity.  Some really brave souls homeschool their children, thus ensuring they never get a break unless they fake a bad case of the scoots or pretend to have a neurogenic bladder.

Wherever you fit on the spectrum, it’s nice to live in the 21st century and to have the choice of how you want to interact with your children, whether it be constant contact or the occasional weekend visit (sometimes I daydream about this scenario on particularly trying days).

It’s also nice to live in a time where eroticism exists (yes, ladies – it’s still out there somewhere) and even if we don’t get to capitalize on it as much as in days gone by, we are able to have fun and not be seen solely as baby-making machines.

So be proud, all you MILFs of the world…and let’s face it – with the raging hormone called testosterone running rampant in our male counterparts we are all, in fact, MILFs.  And GILFs.  But perhaps not GGILFs.  But the only great grandma who may reading this blog would be my own, and that’s only if I wanted to put her into cardiac arrest, so I think I’m safe that I haven’t offended anyone.  But if you are a great grandmother, and you’ve managed to reach the rare and esteemed status of GGILF, then kudos to you, my cane-wielding friend!

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