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An Open Letter to the Mom Who “Used-To-Be-Cool”

Dear Used to Be Cool Mom

Dear "Used-To-Be-Cool" Mom,

I see you over there. Yeah, I'm talking to you. You--the mom wearing the same Mossimo shirt from Target as I am.

I see you. 

I see the clothing you're wearing is a size {or three} bigger than the higher-end boutique clothing you used to wear. Remember those? You used to visit those stores when there weren't infants and toddlers screaming and pulling on your purse {now swapped for a diaper bag}. You used to visit those stores when there was time to run to the grocery, book and clothing store without scheduled feedings and naps interrupting.

Now? You barely have time to run to ONE store before someone--you or the kids--loses their mind.

I see you. 

I see how, even though your hair is pulled in an up-do (read: ponytail), your roots are in need of shampoo, color and a blow-out. Remember those days? When you used to visit the salon like clockwork?

Now? I see bits of this morning's breakfast streaked through your "up-do" by munchkin fingers, hidden strategically behind an ear.

I see you.

I see you pushing groceries, diapers and screaming kids to the used minivan where Frozen's soundtrack is on repeat. It's the same minivan which replaced your sleek, new sports car and the one you said you'd never drive. And remember when you used to roll down the windows and listen to Top 40 and {gasp!} "gangsta" rap?

Now? You catch yourself singing all the Disney and Daniel Tiger songs... Even when kids aren't around.

I see you. 

And I see how cool you used to be.... once upon a time, before spit up, minivans and sippy cups.

I see you. 

And I see how much cooler you are today than you ever were. 

I see you bypassing the latest {super cute!} fringed boots to fill your cart with diapers and school uniforms.

I see you letting your toddler twirl your ponytail around her sticky fingers because she won't stop screaming otherwise.

I see you bending down to carefully inspect and kiss a dirty, scraped knee, despite the dirt that transfers to your face and the traffic waiting for you to move.

I see you turn that soundtrack up as you drive away, belting out Hans' lines in a duet with your own smiling Princess Anna in the back seat.

I see your kids fighting over seats in that used minivan to sit closest to you.

Because you didn't just used to be cool. You are cool.

Cooler than you've ever been.

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