Becoming Betty Draper

…minus the alcoholism and psychosis…

Things I used to Google: how to dye your own hair; how to apply winged eyeliner; how to get wine stains out of carpet. Things I Googled after I got married: how to dress for a job interview; how to update an older fireplace; how to get wine stains out of carpet.

Things I Google now, with two small humans in my care and a “career” that revolves around snacks, poop, and naps: how to get a baby to sleep longer; how to effectively baby proof; how to get spit up stains out of carpet.

Life has a funny way of coming full cirlce, bringing you back to your days on the playground with other like-minded girls, playing house, “keeping” a husband, and raising eleven(ish) babies at once. As a child, that was my idea of happiness, although I also felt certain that I would be Princess of the Universe at the same time as rearing multiple children, so we don’t always get what we want.

When I got a bit older, and shut myself in my poster-ridden bedroom for hours at a time to listen to the Backstreet Boys and dream about my future as a pop star, or maybe a wildly successful actress, despite being terrified of being on stage or, truth be told, noticed at all by anyone, ever, house wifery was one hundred percent not on my radar. Babies were cute and all but Nick Carter was, like, wayyy cuter. Ditto Leo Dicaprio…