Mom Jean Confessions: Momaholic

“Hi, my name’s Cammeo and I’m a momaholic.” What’s a momaholic, you might ask? I myself didn’t know until enduring the longest days of my life this past week – when both my husband and my mom incidentally landed themselves out of town, giving one helpless mama a much needed wake-up call.

Day 1: (cue Law & Order, dun dun sound)

The week started by dropping Garrett (now 17 months) off with the sweet nannies who watch some of the local neighborhood kids. Sounds harmless enough right? WRONG! Cue the waterworks. I’m not talking just any waterworks, I’m talking Wet n’ Wild sized waterworks. Had I not been nanny-blocked (a move clearly she had learned from years of dealing with other momaholics), I would have swooped him up in my arms and never made it in to work that day. But, le sigh, I walked away pushing back the tears and making it to work early for a change. All good right? Wrong again! As I dug hopelessly through my Zara bag, I got the sinking feeling that no matter how much I imagined a Mary Poppins-like scenario – my wallet was nowhere to be found.

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