Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin

You know those moments of motherhood that you dream of? The ones bathed in the pure delight of your children, with them gazing up at you, love in their eyes, straight out of some sappy commercial? Well, I thought I was having one of those the other day.

Picture it. The sun is streaming through the front window, gloriously filling the room with light following days of rain and darkness. I have two of my three boys with me, one on either side, with my arms around them, feeling the love that only a mother has, feeling the gratitude for these blessings in my life.

Collin looks up at me, smiling. I imagine the words coming out of his mouth…Mom, I love you. I’m so glad you are my mom. I’ll never hit my brother again. Can we read a book together?

Ha.

Instead, I get…Mom, you have a beard.

Yeah, you heard right. Mom, you have a beard.

To which his two year old brother immediately, gleefully, responds…Mommy have a beard! Mommy have a beard!

Now I may be 40, that magical decade of middle age, hormonal changes, rapidly graying hair and bifocals, but please. A beard?

Yeah mom, when the sun shines on your chin, I see all the hair you have there. You have a beard.

Thank god he did not see the mole that I do indeed have on my chin. You know, the one that has a hair growing out of it. The hair that would grow to a foot in length over the course of a week if I did not pluck it regularly. Gross, I know. But doesn’t everyone have one of those somewhere?

I called my BFF. I told her about the beard. And the mole.

And then she laughed. I have a mole too! she said. On my chin too!! she said. With a hair!!! she said.

Well, I felt a bit better about the whole mole thing.

But not about the beard thing. She doesn’t have a beard. That is something that is all mine. After all, she’s only 37. Something to look forward to, I guess.

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