All Guilt Aside
I suppose the difference between me and any other lady at a newsstand is the guilt that always creeps up at the thought of a purchase for myself, however small it may be. That is, unless the other woman happens to also be the mother of a small child. Afterall, it’s not a much needed spa day or Victoria’s Secret trip I’m contemplating. Magazines are superfluous compared to children with real needs like new winter hats, another box of diapers and wipes, more learning tools with Elmo on it…{You get my point}.
However, I admit to giving in to selfish indulgences when the opportunities arise. Afterall, I simply refuse to completely lose myself in this whole mommy-thing. And hey, it’s just a magazine! A few pages, a few dollars, a brief moment of escape. Right? Well, three actually. I couldn’t decide between Harper’s Bazaar, Jane and Real Simple because there isn’t one out there that appeases the appetites of my multiple personalities in a single issue. Harper’s Bazaar is for the fashionista in me, however closeted my inner glamourpuss might be. Jane is for the girl in me that’s not always so girly. You know, the one that likes to discuss new music and kicks, smart women and stupid politics. And the neat-freak mommy in me makes a bible of Real Simple for all the tips that make homemaking easier than it really is. So I grab all three. It’s just a few pages and a few dollars for a brief moment of escape. Right?
I was pleased—each and every one of me. I found a recipe in Jane for one of the most delicious and reasonably priced meals {$10} I have ever made, eaten, thoroughly enjoyed, and shared with friends. I referenced Real Simple for the shelf life of a package of mushrooms I found in the back of my fridge. {After three days, chuck ‘em}. And I was pleasantly surprised by Harper’s Bazaar. I mean, I do like to hear from the fashion gods about what’s hot and not. Really I just like to poke fun at fashion taken so seriously. But if it weren’t for the articles about Gwyneth Paltrow and Debi Mazar, both moms talking mommyhood, I might still be feeling small pangs of regret. One talks about the type of mom she aspires to be and the other can’t stop talking about the twenty extra pounds of baby weight. I cringed when one described how motherhood requires so much of her life and she "doesn't even have to change sheets and clean toilets." Albeit my life is different from any movie stars'--or anyone for that matter--still, being a mom is the most relatable experience I have with women with children everywhere. And I'm just glad my little self-centered splurge reminded me of it.
