Motherhood, like all other ages, has its distinct social strata. Much like teen stereotypes (jock, popular, bully, freak, burn-out, geek, dork, etc.), there are the protypical mothers: tiger, helicopter, lawnmower, free-range; or if you are less about cryptic buzz words, there’s the best friend, the by-the-book, the martyr, the me-first, the emotional wreck, the control freak, the hands-off, and the scatterbrain.
Despite the fact that I’m one who has never done so well with cliques, I’ve managed to have my moments fitting into just about all of the above descriptions.
There is one, however, that is the white whale of ’em all, and as a lifelong Type-A, maxi-zoom dweebie, it’s also the one I secretly aspire to be: The Perfect Mom.
You know her: she’s the one that’s always in the know (although not a know-it-all; she’s far too political for that). From the second she birthed her child with nary a cuss word on her lips nor a broken sweat on her brow, she has the whole motherhood thing dialed in and down cold. From Mommy and Me through to the Ivy League, there is not a teacher, coach, or school administrator that doesn’t know and love her, which makes her privy to precious insider information.