Shopping in heels? Good luck with that.

Is this how I am supposed to look while shopping for groceries? Because if it is, then I am missing the mark…BIG TIME.

This pic of Bridget Moynahan from the current issue of Harper’s Bazaar is just that…bizarre. I mean, isn’t that exactly how you look when you are coming out of a grocery store? Yeah…uh, huh. Me too.

Let me just describe for you how I looked coming out of the grocery store the other day.

Wearing the previous day’s shorts and T-shirt (they weren’t that dirty, so why force more laundry upon myself), I struggled to find my keys in the bottom of my over sized purse that I have to carry in order to have band aides, coupons, wet wipes, Kleenex, anti-bacterial hand gel, and an extra pair of Buzz Lightyear underwear with me at all times. Not paying any attention and wearing Old Navy flip flops, I stubbed my toe of the grocery cart wheel, chipping my two-month-old pedicure polish even further.

I was yelling at both of my children to “hold on to the cart, HOLD ON TO THE CART!” because neither one of them was willing to ride in the child safety seat and all of the special carts made to look like race cars were taken. I know kids love those things and the grocery cart makers thought they were doing something really nice for all of us mothers by making them, but trying to push a cart the size of an extra long tractor trailer personally doesn’t make anything easier for me.

Coming out of the store I was none of the things that you see in the beautiful picture of Ms. Moynahan. And yes, I get it. I get that the picture is supposed to be…artistic. It’s not meant to picture the real world. But how often do we see pictures of real moms in magazines? Let’s face it. Even in my most down-to-earth parenting magazines, the mothers still look a little to “with it” for me.
Do they think they are making us feel better about being mothers showing beautiful celebrities doing “normal” mommy things? Well it doesn’t. Nope. Huh-uh. Personally, all it does is remind me that, once again, I don’t measure up.
I never looked as popular as the girls did that were pictured in Seventeen. I never had as great of a sex life as the single gals in Cosmopolitan. And now, I’m not as fabulous or as chic of a mother as all of the celebrity mamas in every single magazine on today’s newsstand.
I don’t think it would bother me so much except for the fact that I’d kill for those shoes she’s wearing and that stroller looks uber-cool and makes me want one. And here I thought I was starting to get over my stroller buying addiction.
Damn you, Harper’s Bazaar. Damn you.

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