The term is coined

Once upon a time, shortly after the birth of one or another of my children, while still milkfull and feeling the excess of baby weight, I went to a party. Could have been New Year’s. I was trying for hot but feeling lukewarm at best. The rooms were filled primarily with singles, none of whom were concerned with alcohol vs. breast milk content.
I got into a conversation with an interesting guy, clearly not a dad type, who had a cool thing going. He had a villa in Italy ( or was it France ) where one could hang out, paint, mix with other artists and drink wine. Pretty much my idea of summer camp. Pretty sure it was a no kids allowed kind of place but I let myself dream a little. Maybe I could pretend that leaving my husband at home with the baby for a week (or was it a six year old and a baby) was an actual possibility.
My little daydream was gone in a poof when he asked the fateful question,” What do you do?” THE most basic party banter and while I adore my
kids I can’t help but cringe at my own answer. “I’m a mom.” NOT that there’s anything wrong with that. Still, it generally seems to illicit a condescending look or response from the professional set. Never mind that you too once had a position that commanded some respect beyond the grocer’s. You don’t go into that and they don’t ask.
This night, however, was different. The non dad gave me a quirky look and said “Oh! You’re a mombshell!” I could have kissed him on the spot. Still loving that guy wherever he is. Probably married to a mombshell and the father of four!

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