strange little mama

"funny, you don't look like a mom..."

High praise, right mamas? I was thinking this morning, while flat-ironing my freshly-colored hair (kind of a dark chocolate, for those who might inquire), what is it about most moms I know, myself included, that makes us staunchly resist settling into the "mom" look. We sneer at mom jeans, we don't imagine ourselves being friends with that mom...you know the one; she looks like she just rolled out of bed, she's wearing her hair the exact way she wore it in high school, 20ish years ago, she hasn't a clue what's happening in music or popular culture, and she defines herself entirely by her kids' activities.
It's a bit ironic, really, because the same mamas, my peers, my kindred souls, are also fiercely proud of their kids, and absolutely in almost every way, feel that having children has shaped us like nothing else. It's far and away the most important thing we do. We're devoted, we think deeply about our parenting and its eventual outcome, we read books, we constantly hone and adapt for our kids' uinque and ever-changing needs. It matters to us, like almost nothing else.

But GOD help us if we start looking like a mom. I guarantee you such a comment from almost every mother I know, at least of my generation, will garner you no less than a withering glare, followed immediately and inwardly by a minor crisis of self-esteem.

SO, I was musing...is it in fact, generational? Is it a way for us to differentiate ourselves from our mothers? Is it our society's youth-obsession, pushing Botox and Restylane at women just glancing their 30s? Is it because we GenXers considered ourselves so unique? Is it technology and social networking, which keeps us very much current on how everyone else is handling themselves, how astute they are socially, how gracefully they are, dare I say it...aging?
I know I am not immune. I walk proudly with my children, I adore being a mom and now a step-mom, I delight in their accomplishments, but I most certainly don't want some random stranger who sees me out of context, away from parenting, to assume I'm a mother purely on outward appearance, style, or savviness.

So. On that note, I want these boots. Hell yes, I am still a bad-ass.