Because the piece you don’t see is the dirty laundry piled up all around the bed, the rolly-eyed husband who has graciously agreed to try and take your picture and make you look sexy for Kristen’s MILF Radio Show, and the dishes piled up in the kitchen downstairs. Lucky for you, you also do not hear the crying jag going on in the crib down the hall.

Appearances, thankfully, are nearly always deceiving. As are words and promises made in the dark (Pat Benetar, where would bittersweet accusations be without your lyrics to guide us?). Fantasy, that hobgoblin of the middle-class ordinary, can often save us from the grim realities of our day-to-day and give us that extra transcendent yum that bolts us out of bed and into some pretty shoes, or into a regular day at a regular job.

More importantly, fantasy is what keeps us smiling and laughing and talking to the small, smelly, loud people, who will, someday we dream, be old enough to tattle on us to a therapist, or cry about us to a friend, or brag about us in secret to a roommate.

Real Moms. Making Love in Our Minds…the Only Place We’re Still a Size 6

**Real Moms Postcript May 2007***

Real Moms Are Fallible and Adulterous

True Mom Confessions is the brain-child of brilliant and lovely and ultra talented Rebecca Woolf (also of Babble and Girls’ Gone Child) and Romi Lassally. The need to confess is deeply human and if the traffic to the True Mom Confessions site is any indication, has not gone the way of other relics of past religions. It is an incredibly powerful thing to read and absorb what’s “really” going on behind the closed doors and baby gates of American motherhood. Confessing mistakes and fallibility explains much of the pleasure of reading (and writing) blogs. And the touching manner in which the fabulously gifted writers of the Internet share their angst and joy and express their feelings about motherhood in such a beautiful way is inspiring.

I’ve pondered whether to post my confession over at TMC, and decided against it. I’m already terrible on paper, so why not go in for the full range of judgment? In the end, no one can judge me as harshly as I judge myself (though honestly they can call me terrible hurtful names to good effect).

I recently had an affair with a married man who has children of his own. My husband and some of my family members know about it. Some of my closest friends know. Most don’t. I feel ashamed and embarrassed and terrified of the consequences of what I’ve done. My husband and I are seeing a counselor and trying to keep our family together.

In some ways my life as a mother and wife left me feeling stifled and trapped and without oxygen. Choosing an escape from this was a mindless way of coping, a way to find something transcendent, overwhelming, a way to be free.

I’m not asking for forgiveness. Or understanding. I’ve hurt many people as a result of this action. And for that I’m very sorry. The problem of living a full and passionate life while being a good faithful wife and mother remains an unsolved mystery to me. Maybe some day I’ll find the peace that has thus far eluded me.

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