Jean Salutes Mommies!

Of all the people I observe in my daily life, I’d have to say the one who has it made the most is the Mommy. After all, Mommies have the most important job in the world, and the most fun one, too! Can you imagine being surrounded all day by adorable kids who love you, and even better, adorable kids who love you and who popped out of your own personal uterus? Well, maybe you can, because you could already be living it! If there are any Mommies who still feel underappreciated these days, well, they haven’t met Jean Teasdale. For they have my instant and undying respect, gratitude, and, might I add, purplest, purplest envy! (Do you see the drool coming out of my mouth?)

A Mommy commands powers the rest of us don’t—besides being able to give life, which is soooo amazingly incredible, it seems like everything she says and does has, well, a natural air of authority and superiority to it. My poor words can’t do it justice, but I’ve witnessed it firsthand, and it is a wonder to behold. For example, a Mommy can, without asking, enter the middle of a long line with her kids, and no one will object. In fact, the folks in line are often happy to lose a place or two. They’d never tolerate that with a single person, even if that person had to pee real badly. And why should they—after all, where are that person’s kids? At the many jobs I’ve held through the years, common was the refrain “Sue will be late again this morning” or “Pat will be in at 9:45.” And it was perfectly fine, because they were Mommies! Obviously, they had some problems getting the children off to school, or the washing machine broke because someone overloaded it with too many dirty clothes, or baby got his tiny hand stuck in the baby gate. We didn’t think twice about it. Because we’d have to be total ogres to expect a Mommy—who birthed us into this world, after all—to be at work on time along with the childless people. My gosh, even baby-spit-stained T-shirts look like ermine robes on them!

If I’m working at some job in which I interact with customers, I find it a true privilege to receive a snide remark from a Mommy. Once upon a time, I used to think it was the overreaction of an overwhelmed, stressed-out parent, but that was the selfish way of looking at it. The truth is, I, with my cold and empty baby oven, am simply not her social equal. Only another Mommy can judge a Mommy, and even that depends on how many children she has relative to the Mommy she’s judging, and whether any of them are adopted.

Just imagine if I was a Mommy. I would be treated with complete respect. If I pushed my child in a stroller, I’d never have to open a door myself. No one would ever second-guess me again. I wouldn’t get weird looks at Gymboree any more. People would smile at me.

The Mommy, in short, is the empress of the universe. How I sorely wish I were one. Maybe someday, God willing.