Even though I feel 18 most of the time, I must occasionally come to grips with the fact that i'm 30 and a mother. On my more charitable and acne-free days, I like to consider myself a MILF, but on rainy days preceded by lots of Girl Scout Cookies and 4 hours of sleep, i'm forced to face the facts.
Short of being in the armed forces or working for a guy named Mike, being a mom is the toughest job around. I mean, we're expected to keep the house clean, shop and prepare delicious food, pack lunches, do all the auxiliary shopping for light bulbs and ceiling fans, send out the appropriate birthday cards and gifts to family, exercise and stay in shape, look great when when our husbands come home... all the while we spend 24 hours a day under the teeny little thumb of the world's most megalomaniacal and demanding dictator who barely speaks our freaking language.
And that's why moms can always be friends, even if we disagree heatedly on religion, germs, or methods of childrearing: we're all in the same constantly sinking boat, which is more like a papier mache dinghy with straws for paddles.