Momtastic

I used to have a safe and peaceful place inside myself called, “The Shopping Zone.”  I could sort through sale racks faster than a speeding bullet.  I could fill the largest dressing room full of clothes and go back for more before the sales associate could ask, “How’s it going in there?”  My Dad coined the term, “buying season” to explain the financial damage done to his bank account following a shopping spree with my Mom.   We could have a twelve hour shopping bender and not even stop to hydrate.

The first time I went shopping after The Trifecta’s birth I felt tired before I even left the house.  I had an event for Junior League. The girls were 5 weeks old.  I had a belly the size of a woman in her third trimester (minus the baby/babies), and milk producing organs the size of a micro-planet.  I also had nothing to wear.  “Listen to me,” I hissed at Chris, “I’m going to ONE store.  I’m going to buy a dress, shoes, and SPANX.  I don’t care how much the items I need cost us.  If I find something that fits, I’m going to buy it.  I’ll be back by the next feeding.”  “That’s a great idea,” he replied with a supportive hug.

That’s how I shop now.  It’s a sprint race, not a marathon.  I go to one store.  I find what I need.  I don’t even look at the price tag, because I cannot be distracted by the proposition to bargain shop.

And so, when I had to make a shoe purchase for an event several weeks ago, I did my best to prepare myself emotionally and spiritually for my shopping expedition.  I would depart for Dillard’s following bath, story, and bed time.  That would give me approximately one hour to venture into the shoe department, search for needed shoes, try them on, and secure payment. If everything went according to the plan I had mapped out in my mind, I could still be in bed by 10:00 pm.

The air of the automatic doors hit my face and as I bee-lined for the shoe department. I made my selection in record time.  The shoes only slightly cut off the circulation to my toes and barely sliced into my heels.  They would do just fine.   I raced to check out and pay for them.

The young specimen working the cash register could not have been less impressed by my Momtasticness.  Perhaps in was the frizzy hair falling out of my pony tail holder into my eyes.  Or, maybe it was my worn yoga pants streaked with food, finger paint, and Trifecta mucus.  I didn’t care.  I just needed to pay and get home.  I reached into my new Thirty-One handbag.  It has 962 secret zipper compartments.  I could feel my wallet, but I could not FIND my wallet inside the bag.  I smiled at Young Specimen.  “It’s in here somewhere,” I explained, “I bought it because it has secret compartments.  I have to hide wallet from my triplet daughters.  They are almost four.  They like to look through my things.  One of my girls likes to hide my paraphernalia.  So I have to, you know, put my wallet and keys where they can’t find them.”  Young Specimen continued to stare at me.  I continued to search.  Seconds turned into minutes.  Minutes turned into a panic attack.  I took my 007 purse off my shoulder and began to shake it violently upside down.  No wallet.  I turned the device inside out in hopes of finding another zipper.  No wallet.

“Pardon me, ma’am?” said a soft voice over my shoulder.  (And yes, the voice TOTALLY just ma’amed me!) “Are you talking to me?” I replied.  “Yes,” answered Soft Voice, “I sell Thirty-One purses.  I actually I have that bag.  I think you are overlooking the zipper around the edge of the bag.” 

I located the wallet, paid for my purchase, and left the store.  By the time I got into bed it was 10:27 pm. 

That safe and peaceful place for shopping lives in me no more.  It has been replaced and filled with three precious little girls and the desire to build pirate ships, solve puzzles, paint pictures, and read stories.  And I know it’s not just the shopping.  I live in yoga pants and a ponytail.  It’s my Momtastic season of life right now.  And I’m totally ok with it.