For you, Tiny Human Keepers.

Let's get real for a minute. By real, I mean real.  I'm sitting on my couch, wearing my favorite Clinique face mask, editing photos from  a few work adventures, watching Thursday's Grey's Anatomy, and wearing Crest Whitestrips.  Told ya'll it was about to get real.

This is what my Saturday morning looks like after a whirlwind of a week. It's quiet, I  was able to sleep past 7 a.m. and I'm still in my pajamas.

Where am I going with this? This post is for all you keepers of tiny humans. The ones who entered into a 9 month lease agreement with a plethora of clauses keeping your Saturday's jam packed for the next 25 years... at least.

I don't know how you gals do it. My week was crazy and I don't have anyone depending on me to feed, bathe, or convince them dirt is better for cuts than Bandaids.

Do you moms have more hours in the day than I do?

I can't technically speak on behalf of my mom, but she's not here and I'm not a 100 percent certain she reads all of my posts... However, I'm pretty sure my mom did everything she did because I was so dang cute.

And, I was an only child for a solid 2831 days, or 7 years 9 months. Also known as the best 67,944 hours of my childhood. So, she was able to dedicate all her attention to me. This could be the foundation of my Princess attitude.

And, you ladies do some weird stuff for your kids.

For example: Dressing up for MORP (Sadie Hawkins, Prom spelled backwards, 70s theme dance) to be a chaperone.

Clearly a lot has changed since this picture was taken. (Back in '04). I'm a solid 6 inches taller than my mom and her hair is absolutely disputing this fact in this amazing picture. {she's going to kill me if she sees this.}

So Moms, I speak from us tiny-humans-turned-twenty-somethings, thanks.

Thanks for teaching us how to a ride bike by pushing us down a hill, for not going to the principal when we were beat up on the bus (true story, guys), and thanks for driving to college when my migraine made it impossible for me to pack for my 6:30 a.m. flight to D.C.

Mostly, thanks for letting me be a twenty-something pursuing a career and defending my lack of tiny humans to my small town. Because the truth is, the world just isn't ready for a Brooke Jr.

Happy Moms Day, Moms.

**Oh, and roughly 48 years from now if I ever join your club. Remind me about Saturday mornings when I could sit around and work in peace. Thanks.