Positively (Im)perfect

A few weeks ago I was sitting in my two-year-old’s room, a clean diaper in one hand and a…well, let’s skip that part. One of the older kids came running down the hall to the bedroom door, urgently calling “Mommy!” and proceeding to detail something Very Important that needed my immediate attention (like a hitting offense or lack of clean underwear or that blue and green make this crazy blue-green color called teal or something). But instead of hearing the Very Important Declaration, I got stuck in this Twilight Zone-esque moment where I found myself in a daze thinking, “They’re calling me 'Mommy'. I'm the mom! When did that happen?! Who decided I should be in charge?” The moment ended as quickly as it began, and I went back to diapering a fresh backside while attending to the big kid crisis of the moment (I still can’t remember what it was). But in my nanosecond of bizarre altered-reality state, I came to grips with the fact that I’ve spent a whole lot of life going, doi