I’m SO not an Alpha Mom

Gina had a post that introduced me to a new term, Alpha Mom. Since in my usually clueless way, I had no clue what the buzz was all about, I did a bit of Googling. And although I’m still a little unclear what exactly it takes to be an Alpha Mom, what IS clear is that as I sit here with no career in faded yoga pants and a fleece jacket that is a decade or so old as my children watch not-so-educational TV, I am SO not an Alpha Mom. I can guarantee that not a single person I meet in my day to day life is going to run out and buy something because I am wearing it or using it. In fact, I am fairly confident that they will take one look at my life and make a mental note to NOT do what I do.

As I read up on the life of the Alpha Mom, it made most of me want to run screaming away from my computer. But, deep down inside, there is a small part of me that believes in the Alpha Mom and likes to think that I could be one. Sometimes I daydream about what it might be like to have a high-powered career, headed off to the city every morning dressed in the latest fashion with my Blackberry and laptop, cheerily kissing C and A goodbye knowing that they were being lovingly cared for by the village that I had hired to make sure that they ate their vegetables, peed on the potty and attended the appropriate enriching activities. And let’s be clear, I wouldn’t be working because I had to, but because I wanted to.

I would come home at night to happy children who were ready to spend quality time with me, and then I would have grownup conversations with M about my job and all the amazing things I had done that day. Oh, and at some point in this scenario, I made it to the gym too, and I have miraculously lost the ten (or 20) extra pounds hanging around my middle. Although I haven’t quite worked out in my mind when my gym time is. I have a sneaking suspicion that I ended up building a home gym in the basement and workout while watching CNBC after the kids are in bed, but that part of my fantasy is still a work in progress.

Then I wake up from my fantasy world, and go back to the life I really lead. And most of the time, I’m OK with that because no matter how much they say that being an Alpha Mom isn’t about trying to be perfect, from where I’m sitting it looks an awful lot like the Supermom concept repackaged. And I don’t really want her therapy bills.

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