My sense of style, what little I had to begin with, has flown
out the window.
It’s sailed away and I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again.
My sense of style, what little I had to begin with, has flown out the window.
It’s sailed away and I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again.
It began disappearing around the middle of my pregnancy late last summer. That’s when my ever-expanding belly forced me to trade in my cute sundresses and skirts for big shirts and even bigger elastic waistbands. To make matters worse, most of those waistbands kept slipping off my tummy, so I spent the better part of my day hiking up my pants. Now that was attractive.
While most of my baby weight is gone, now that I’m a Mom any flair for fashion I once had is completely gone.
Funny thing is I don’t really care.
When you’re trying to keep up with a 5-month-old 24/7, “look cute” doesn’t exactly rank high on your “to do” list.
Worrying whether Emma could pick up something small enough to fit into her mouth but large enough to get stuck in her windpipe or whether that fire truck screeching down the street is going to my house squeezes out any concerns about wearing the same pair of shorts two days in a row.
I wouldn’t say I’ve let myself go by any means. But I’ve definitely gone from primped and polished to generally neat and well-maintained.
Anyone who spots me on the street or in the supermarket wouldn’t suspect that my beauty routine that morning consisted of little else than brushing my teeth and running a hand through my hair. But if one looked closely they might notice traces of suspicious stains running down the shoulders of my rumpled shirt.
Of course all of that is just par for the course. If I changed every time our daughter, Emma, spit up on me, I’d never step foot out of our house.
I will say that one fine day last week when Emma and I stepped out, my purse actually matched my shoes. Not that that in and of itself is very interesting. But believe me, it was a small feat. I worked hard to make that happen.
I had to switch all of Emma’s loot from one bag to another. You should see all the stuff I tote around. I could open a small drugstore, or at least a sidewalk sale in front of one.
Do you need cough drops? I got ’em. Changing pad? Check. Sunblock? Yep. Nail file. Yes again.
Alas, I digress. My point was that for one brief, shining moment, I was actually color-coordinated.
Anything else is just too much to hope for. Of course, some people don’t think so. I had a good laugh the other day while flipping through one of my parenting magazines. An article gave hints for moms as to how to “tune in to your sensual side.” The writer actually suggested that I “slip a lacy, form-fitting camisole under your clothes” (yes, that’s very practical for us nursing moms) or “give yourself a lift with a push-up bra.” No thanks, I get plenty of “lift” from my morning latte. My favorite is “indulge with an at-home beauty treatment,” such as a face mask or bubble bath. Oh sure, I can just picture having a Calgon moment while my little one is bleating in the other room. That’s a calming image.
I would settle for having time to rinse all the conditioner at of my hair before Emma wakes up from her morning nap.
Of course, I don’t always like to feel like I’m settling. I get grouchy when at the end of the day, I can’t tell what color my shirt is supposed to be.
And then there’s some days when I just have to surrender to the messiness of mommyhood. Like one relaxing evening a couple of weeks ago. My husband, Chris, and I were enjoying a Dungeness crab dinner after spending the day at the beach with our little cherub.
Reaching across the table, he slipped one hand over mine.
“You have crab shells in your hair,” he said softly.
“And?” I said, sipping my Chardonnay and smiling down at my sunburned legs.
“And nothing,” he said.
It’s freeing in a way not to have to worry about what shade of eye shadow to wear or which pump to wear with which handbag.
One day my fashion sense will return. And then I’ll have the rest of my life to worry about getting my roots touched up or my nails done.
In the meantime, the most important person in my life doesn’t care if my hair is smooshed to my head or I have holes in my socks.
I get to spend my days with our beautiful daughter. Watching her take in the world is what’s in style.
