We finally bought a station wagon, which, I mean, I was gonna buy anyway, kid or no kid. I’ve always wanted one. I’ve learned to fit more than should be allowed into the ole trusty Honda Civic (such as an entire shelving system and 10 bags of gravel – ummm…not at the same time though) but it’ll be nice not to have to ask friends with larger vehicles to help us pick up stuff. And imagine the glee of bulk trash pick up day! Whoo hoo! Though I am enamored of the wagon, I do greatly fear the cult of the Soccer Mom. When I was younger, I always swore to myself, I’ll never become one of those dorky, poorly dressed Moms that don’t take care of themselves or have a lame haircut. But now I see how that’s so easy to fall into. You spend so much time taking care of your kids ‘cause you love them, you sorta neglect yourself. And of course, what you look like isn’t as important…or is it? I don’t think it’s crucial to look perfect. Coming from someone who never irons anything ever, that should be obvious. But if I start wearing “Mom Jeans” someone needs to let me know that ain’t right (speaking of which, just found out Tina Fey is also preggo). Promise me friends, you won’t let me slip into a downward spiral of sweatpants?