glamorous, it ain't.

When people think of glitzy, glamorous Things To Be When I Grow Up, "Mama" isn't usually topping the list. For some unfathomable reason, movie stars and rock stars and professional athletes and the like tend to outrank Mamahood on the bling scale.

(Unless of course, you are both a mama and a rock star/movie star/athlete, in which case the general public thinks you're the Most! Popular! and Interesting! Person! EVER!)

There are no cameras trying to sneak shots of you folding laundry, no appearances on talk shows to hype your upcoming trip to the grocery store, no endorsement deals for which brand of tissue you think best wipes snot from itty bitty noses.

BUT... there are little hands always reaching out for you. Heads lean on your shoulder and settle into the crook of your arms. Little tummies and toes beg for you to kiss and tickle, and chubby arms entangle themselves in your legs as you walk. Toothless smiles crack wide open at the sight of you and bright little eyes follow intently wherever you go.

I'll tell you - on the surface, "Mama" is even less glamorous than the non-glamorous images it conjures up... there's poop and snot and long nights and bad smells and spit-up and all other manner of really non-sparkly facets to the job. However... I believe that the glitz and glam are there, wrapped up in baby-smooth skin and tiny non-skid socks and teething rings and burp rags. The general public may not bat an eyelash at what I do all day long... but to one little girl, I am the Most! Popular! and Interesting! Person! EVER!

And that, friends, is more than enough for this here mama.