Bona Fide

In elementary school there were some specific, enviously womanly things I strived for that I saw in those girls who had it together.  We all know who I'm talking about. The chicks with smooth hair, or the perfect roundy bangs, cute clothes, (ahem: short-alls, butterfly hairclips and headbands, people), and everything in the store looked like it was made with those cute girls in mind anyways. I was chubby, had crooked teeth, and cow licks that defied gravity in a way Lady Gaga dreams to afford.

But oh, I knew that far off, surreal day would come when my assigned grow-up-fairy would wave her wand and I'd be one of them: straight, pearly white teeth, hair that landed itself into a smooth pony tail, bangs that reached for the sky and curved aaaallll the way back down to my eyebrows flawlessly, nail polish inside the lines of my right hand's nails, white shirts without stains, aaaand I'd be able to wash my hands without rolling up my sleeves first.  Only real, accomplished moms could do that.

I remember thinking "If I could just get braces.." cause my friends with braces made them look cool.  I'd be a bona fide teenager.  (teeeeeenaaager).
Then the magical day came.
Why oh WHY did they have to stick out like that and make my lips not fit my face?!  Smiling was always a gamble- you never knew when your lip would catch on that one metal-y spot and prevent your lips from closing after a smile/laugh/comment.  Attractive!
2 chewy food and candy-deprived years later, when I'd survived only by the knowledge that Movie Star Day was coming and they'd soon be off, I endured 2 solid hours of scraping, chiseling and shaving that resonated into my skull only to walk out with slimy-feeling, yellow teeth that hadn't seen the light of day under all that glue for 2 years.  Oh but they were straight.
(the next time you enviously judge one of us post-braces people, think of our story. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. And chances are we're still paying for them).
I just knew that when the day came that I accomplished those important milestones, I would be a bona fide grown up woman.

All of this came to me one afternoon as I took preventative measures against spilling my water from my water bottle, and still watched myself dribble onto my shirt.  No amount of bendy straws or proper lid-screwing ever seems to spare me that shame.  My 23 year old self paints my right hand's nails and still thinks "Whoa! Check it out!  I can paint just the nails now!"  Sometimes as I'm throwing my hair into a pony tail and it all lands just right, (thank you, "Fine-textured" hair for always falling together; it's good for the polished look, but makes the awesome "messy look" really difficult. So backwards), I think "Hey. Hey. Lookit.  It's magic. It's called being grownup and I don't know when it happened but the grownup fairy came and now I can make ponytails."  The best, and least mature, is when I'm at a public restroom sink and watch the kid next to me shoooooving their sleeves to their armpits as I casually put my hands under the water.. arms fully sleeved.  And then I walk away.  Arms still fully sleeved.  Dry.

  I love learning about health and how to eat right.  I've spent many summer hours googling the health benefits of every food in our house.  But my childhood was one filled with suspiciously green smoothies in the mornings, forbidden from delicacies like Captain Crunch, Cocoa Puffs, and [God forbid] Reeses somethingerother.  ("Part of a balanced breakfast," my foot.  Only if the rest of the breakfast was raw vegetables and the kid happened to be dying from low blood sugar).  Try putting yourself in the mind of an 8 year old looking at a 12-oz cup of GREEN LIQUID. With lumps. LUMPS!  Worse, I had to finish mixing it myself!  Might as well make the condemned man hang his own noose.
     At "fruit break" at school, while other kids chilled on the playground with their gushers and fruit roll-ups wrapped around their thumbs, I broke out the raw carrots, boiled eggs and pickles.  Trading games never worked out too well for me.

     These days, I ruin my dinner with snacks on a regular basis. I get an odd amusement out of eating at non-regulated times of the day.  Orange juice with dinner?  YES.  Dessert before dinner?
Whoa, whoa. I still remember the day I did that for the first time, and the moment of choice I saw before me.  I literally paused to reflect on what I was doing before digging into the bowl.  My favorite thing to do, however, (mostly because I can hear the outside world gagging and shaking their heads at me) is... wait for it.... waaaaait for iiiiiit....... leftover sushi for breakfast.

You cold-leftover-pizza-for-breakfast peeps can take a hike! I got you beat.  Or maybe this just means I will be the weirdest pregnant eater ever.  Who would have thought as a kid that big grown ups think like this.  (others do too, right?)  If only I'd known!  If only I'd known.
I'm going to love being a mom.