Who can relate to hot moms?

Hot moms, with wrinkle-free foreheads and perky derrieres, are strange and fascinating creatures. They don’t seem to live in the same world as the rest of us. What’s their secret? Pampering oneself into a blissful state of constant beauty looks fun, but all that plucking and waxing must be exhausting.

I’m not talking about moms who pull themselves together and turn heads when attending a party or college reunion. I’m talking about moms who:

  • don’t clip coupons or hold garage sales and can still afford a new face and wardrobe each year.
  • arrive in the carpool lane wearing makeup and outfits that would cause a Kardashian to cringe and mumble, “Dial it down lady.”
  • arrive at the gym before 9am looking ready for the runway. They never notice the eye rolls from women who haven’t had a good night’s sleep since 1998.
  • only use wrinkle cream on their heels because the rest of their body stopped aging when they were twenty-five.

I attend conferences with mommy moguls and speakers who, though they’ve never found a grey eyelash and probably never will, hope to inspire the rest of us. Outside of Hollywood and certain parts of Manhattan, who can relate to that?

I can’t learn anything from someone who’s never weighed herself and then spent an hour cursing red velvet cake.

I’m not trying to incite another Mommy War. We need a variety of unique and valuable mamas out there, whether they’re baking cookies each day or acquiring financial firms.

I just wish more mommy and parenting experts looked like someone I’ve actually met in a playgroup trying to find ways to get vomit stains out of a favorite blouse.

Magazines and newspapers highlight women far too poised and perfect, never with a hair out of place, surrounded by pristine kids and husbands who play a lot of golf. Their guidelines will help us achieve perfection, too, but let’s be honest. Hanging in there is hard enough.

I don’t have the staff, allowance, or genetic makeup to look perfect.

And I’ve seen my kids and husband in broad daylight.

They’ll never be perfect, either.

Instead of a hot mom, I’m happy to be lukewarm and presentable after an hour with Reverse the Curse Concealer. I work out and stay trim, but almost every day I can be found in support hose, alarmingly large tshirts, and a mud mask.

It’s the struggle to attain perfection that I admire in fellow mommies, not the end result.

Besides, Marc adores me, even in large tshirts. When I fix my hair and put on a nice dress? He gets those bad eyes that keep me giggling for hours.

If I looked great all the time, we’d never get anything done.

My mommy gurus have to understand three things: bad hair, the horror of chipped nails, and the knowledge that, even on her best day, she’ll never attract Channing Tatum.

If she can still run a happy house? I’m ready to listen.