Before I became a mom, I had no idea how much I took for granted. For starters, my body was mine—boobs in their rightful place and no stretch marks to be seen. I could go to the bathroom without an audience, enjoy disposable income, and have evenings free of chaos. But the thing I miss the most? A purse that was exclusively mine.
In my pre-mom life, my purse was a sanctuary filled with only my essentials: makeup, a hairbrush, a mirror, dental floss, tampons, and the occasional pack of ibuprofen. I didn’t have to carry around items for anyone else. I was blissfully unprepared for unexpected poop explosions, snack delays, or the myriad of imaginary boo-boos that come with parenting.
Fast forward to now—four kids later—and my once-pristine purse resembles a toy store explosion. “Handbag” doesn’t even cut it anymore; it’s more like a Santa sack that’s been stuffed to the brim with 200 pounds of kid-related debris. Sure, my few personal items are still in there, but they’re buried beneath a sticky avalanche of toys and snacks. When I reach in, I’m more likely to pull out a crushed granola bar or a pair of plastic fangs than my beloved lip balm.
The sheer volume of paper in my purse could rival the National Archives. I’m not a coupon queen, but I’ve got enough expired offers for juice boxes and jeans to make it seem otherwise. I’ve collected handouts on child development from the pediatrician, old appointment reminders, and invitations to birthday parties that took place six months ago. And don’t even get me started on the random notes—like “fashion water”? What was I thinking?
As for toys, the situation has spiraled out of control. It started innocently; just a few cars to keep the kids entertained during mundane waits. But now, my purse is the final resting place for every small toy known to man. Superheroes, ponies, and cheap trinkets have all found a home amidst my belongings, often smashed and forgotten until I stumble upon them, stuck to my hairbrush like gumball-machine slime.
If there’s one thing that outnumbers the toys, it’s the trash. You know how there seems to be a trash can on every corner until you actually need one? Suddenly, you find yourself with a handful of snotty tissues and nowhere to put them. So, into the purse they go, along with empty wrappers and the remains of snacks that have long since lost their appeal. At this point, I’m pretty sure my bag is a breeding ground for germs. But hey, immune booster, right?
On the bright side, I could survive a minor apocalypse with the snacks in my bag. Half-eaten Nutri-Grain bars, crushed Goldfish, and stale peanut butter crackers could see me through even the worst of famines. And if that runs out, there’s a delightful layer of crumbs waiting at the bottom—a gourmet treat if I’m desperate enough!
I often find myself longing for the days of a neat little bag filled with only my necessities. But this is my reality now; I may not be able to find my lip gloss, but if there’s a sudden need for a diaper change, I’m your go-to gal.
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In summary, while I may miss my neat little purse of yesteryear, there’s a certain charm in being the Swiss Army knife of motherhood. A chaotic bag may not be glamorous, but it’s a testament to the adventures of parenting.
Keyphrase: Mom purse chaos
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