Princess Mom

He asked me if I could just drop him off at practice last night.  Because, you know, I’m the only mom that ever stays.  I guess that is embarrassing.

I remember when they were littler, and I was not embarrassing.  I was pretty and smart and wonderful.  Like a princess.  I was a princess mom.  And they lit up when I walked into a room.  They ran to me.  They hugged me and clung to my legs so that I almost fell over.  And my love for them was not embarrassing.

I zipped my coat all the way up on the way out the door so that no one would see that I looked sloppy when I picked him up from practice.  I sighed a little as I glanced at Ella, dressed for bedtime in her light blue snowman jammies and leopard print raincoat.  I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

When we arrived, a boy was handing out cupcakes that his mom had sent for his birthday.  On the ride home, I told him that I could make cupcakes for his birthday, too, if he wanted.  But he said no.  I guess that would be embarrassing, too.

I liked being the princess mom better.

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