I have given something a lot of thought lately: mommies the world over would be excellent in espionage.
I think the C.I.A. should hire us, and I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of submitting one large resume on behalf of moms everywhere.
Of course, we’ll have to have Spy Names, like Scully, or Agent 99, or Bond … James Bond – something like that. Give it some thought. Seeing as how once upon a time, approximately three hundred years ago, I was a ballerina, I’ve decided to be Tutu. I’ll have a pointe shoe phone.
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CIA Application on Behalf of Moms Everywhere
Dear Sir/Madam in the hiring departments of the CIA, FBI, NSA, SpecOps, or Any Other Organizations with Initials excluding the DMV,
I would like to submit to you a group of highly trained, fiercely combative, stay at home moms. The following are the reasons – in bullet form (please ignore the crayon marks and the questionable stain that looks like poop but I’m 87% sure is Nutella):
- Pain Tolerance. The stay at home mom has an amazingly high pain tolerance. Pretty sure Pierce Brosnon couldn’t foster a human child inside his body and then expel it – either by hacking it out with a carving knife in an operating room or by pushing it out through his nether regions. We are also fairly certain he would not make it through the first two weeks of breastfeeding without a lot of sobbing, curling in the fetal position, and begging for mercy from a six pound infant.
100% of those Bonds wouldn’t make it through hour four of labor.
- Stealth Skills. We have perfected stealth. Mommies are sneaky little women. Take nap time: whether it’s a brand new babe or one of the toddling garden varieties, we can hold our breath for most of eternity plus five extra minutes and then maneuver that little bumpkin to his crib or bed without waking him. As every mommy knows and I’m sure you do as well, oh wise CIA guru, all cribs and toddler beds were made by The Enemy (probably Hitler, possibly Stalin, maybe Rasputin and his maniacal singing bat) and were designed to creak if you so much as whimper a Cheerio-laced breath at them. Getting a snoozing babe inside involves a highly intricate dance that is similar to Tom Cruise being suspended from the ceiling, which we can duplicate with much aplomb as long as we are wearing our yoga pants.
- Food Deprivation Buildup. We can go days without eating – nay! Weeks. Months. I am thinking when the last wee one drives off for college, I will finally get a hot bite of something other than the slimy dregs in the bottom of the burnt coffee pot. Which are tasty, I admit, but tend to get stuck in my teeth. In order to train for this skill, we mommies practice diligently and nightly. By the time any and all food is prepared and on the table, little Emily wants a drink from the green sippy cup, little George has pooped his pants, little Trixie has spit up, and when you’ve dealt with all that, there is nothing left at the table but a pile of congealed and moldy shells of what was once dinner, long ago and in a galaxy far, far away.
- Sleep Deprivation Buildup. We can go a long time without sleep. Approximately 18 years, give or take.
- “Sanitation” Proficiency. We are adept at cleaning up bodily fluids. We don’t want to brag or anything, but “You name it, we’ve slopped it”, is kinda our motto and mantra.
- Torture Endurance Training. We can’t be broken through torture. If we can handle upteen viewings of Barney, have lived through mastitis, have potty trained during a road trip, and have grocery shopped with four toddlers, we can handle water-boarding.
You know how Angelina Jolie prepared for the torture scene in Salt, not to mention the rest of the movie where she was being a badass? SHE DECIDED TO HAVE EIGHT KIDS, THAT’S HOW.
- Weapons Proficiency. We are highly trained in the areas of weaponry (Nerf guns being a particular specialty). We have also perfected many ninja moves, including, but not limited to, being able to protect one’s delicate body parts from flinging toddler arms and legs while co-sleeping, cat like reflexes that come from knowing the precise moment your child is going to vomit and being there with hands held out in less time than it takes to yell, not on the new couch! and knowing how to wrestle a five year old boy into a hot bubble bath when he’d rather be playing video games.
- And lastly, we are masters of disguise. Why, you’d hardly recognize us from the 19 year old hotties we used to be now that we’ve got our Mom Jeans, muffin top accessories, and messy buns.
Mom jeans? Hell to the yes.
We look forward to hearing from you soon, and are eager to get started serving our country with our espionage skills!
*Please do not call to discuss the terms of our employment during the hours of naptime, dinner time, soccer game time, or during Downton Abbey. Please and thank you.
Tutu, and friends.