I'm Not Your Mother

Yesterday I saw the look of surprise in another mom's eyes as she dropped her daughter off at our house. I had an almost out of body experience. For a moment I was floating above the scene, seeing myself from her perspective.
 
My hair has wisps of gray at the roots no matter how dedicated I am to my salon appointments. My mid-section has softened and spread. I'm no longer a size 8. My face is lined with wrinkles, earned from decades of laughter and tears.

I was at home so I had let my guard down. I was in old jeans and a T-shirt, without makeup. I was my true self, not my PTA attending, potluck bringing, blending in self.

What she clearly saw was her mother. Or at best, one of her mother's friends.

This is why the other moms don't include me in grown up play dates. Even in your thirties who wants your mom along when you're out drinking and complaining about your husband? Your mom will tell you to designate a driver. Your mom will point out that not all men are bad. Basically, your mom will be a buzz kill.