Don’t get me wrong. There have been plenty of occasions during my motherhood journey that a fellow mom has saved me from mom-barrassment. Like that one time another mother informed me that my son threw up in the shopping cart at Costco while I was checking out giant bags of shredded cheese. Or that other time when a mother-in-arms gave a reassuring nod as my toddler flailed in the produce section of Trader Joe’s. I’m always grateful to my comrades who point out the green thing in my teeth. Or my sisters who pretend not to notice the dirt in my house. Now that’s solidarity.
However, I experienced some pretty bad mom-barrassment a few weeks ago that many-a-mother left unchecked. My daughter and I were visiting the Botanic Gardens recently. Of course, we had to take a trip to the bathroom.
Little did I know as I hurried to finish my restroom routine (before my impatient little sweetie could open the bathroom door) that my cute summer skirt was tucked into my underwear.
We passed by a quilting circle and smiled at babies in strollers with mamas attached. But not a word. In the farm area, we walked around the barn with a few other families and checked out the goats, chickens, and cow. But still silence.
I’m certain these people were not enjoying their view, but my embarrassment embarrassed them. That gets one big giant “nope” in my book.
Finally, finally, as we admired the horses did one mom say, “I’m not sure if you want it that way or not, but your skirt is flipped up.” First of all, my skirt was not simply flipped up. It was tucked into my underwear. And you’re not sure if I wanted it that way? I was wearing a light blue pair of granny panties, not a hot pink thong. Some things are clearly not for others to see.
I’m not trying to bring all the boys to the yard at the Botanic Gardens on a Tuesday morning. This is Albuquerque, not South Beach. Of course, it was unintentional!
Which brings me to my main point. Mamas, we must stick together. If we will not stand up for each other, who will? On most days our children thwart every one of our attempts to parent them. This parenting gig is hard, so we have to have each others’ backs.
Raise your fist for moms everywhere. Go all Hunger Games. Kiss three fingers, and put them in the air to let that mama in the booth next to you at Chick-Fil-A know she is not alone. You too have dealt with a 15-month-old throwing food like an angry, caged gorilla.
When you see the new mommy holding a baby who just had a poo-splosion, tell her. If she has ketchup in her hair, toilet paper on her shoe, or leaky boobies, fulfill your duty to your fellow mom and let her know.
Who’s with me? Shall we put an end to mom-barrassment?
Originally published September 2016.
The opinions expressed in this post are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of ABQ Mom, its executive team, other contributors to the site, its sponsors or partners, or any organizations the aforementioned might be affiliated with.