There are many things that we swear we’ll never do once we become parents. One is refer to ourselves as Mommy in the third person. It took me all of five seconds before I broke this rule. Another was that I’d continue to do my hair and makeup, wear pretty clothes and still love my jewellery as much as I ever did. I told myself I’d be a hot mommy, that I would care and make an effort to not look as though I had aged 10 years just by having a child. Again, this took about five seconds before I was like ‘Yeah...Not happening.’
I have come to the realization that while I am only 25 years old, I simply No Longer Have It. It being a number of things: hotness, fashion sense, time, patience, nice boobs. You name it, I don’t have it. Allow me to give you some examples.
Last week, I went out for a girls’ night with some friends. I was excited to talk to people who are not my one year old daughter and to put on fancy shoes. No more than an hour had passed before I basically dislocated a toe just by standing in my yellow pumps. I tried to ignore the pain because the shoes are to die for, but I took one step and quickly realized that I do not actually want to die for a pair of shoes. I put on some flats.
Each of my ears is pierced three times, but most days I can’t be bothered to wear even one set. This is because I don’t want earrings to interfere with a possible afternoon nap by either having to take them out again or uncomfortably sleep with them in. Yes, that’s how lazy I am. I nap AND I don’t feel like taking my earrings out.
When my friends invite me to the bar, I don’t even want to go. Remember how I said I was a bit of a party girl in my former life? You can see how much things have changed when I’m the one campaigning to stay home so I can avoid having to wear a strapless bra. They’re just so evil and annoying.
I still wear skinny jeans, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold out on the Mom Jeans. I’m starting to think it would be nice not to have to pull my pants up 683 times a day or worry about showing butt crack every time I sit down.
I’ve thought long and hard over this dilemma. Like I said, I am only 25. By my calculations, I should still have It for at least another 10-12 years. Dawson told me to either accept my fate or conquer It. But that seems so...final. Life would seem really long and boring if I just gave up on jewellery altogether. Plus I’ve spent a lot of time accumulating my extensive collection and I’m too greedy to let someone else enjoy it while I sit back and look like ass for the rest of my life. So am I really ready for Mom Jeans? The answer is maybe. There are days when I will wear the yellow pumps despite the fact that they steal my soul. And there are days when I will wear every freaking piece of jewellery that I own just because it makes me so damn happy. And then there are days when sweat pants and my Legally Blonde: the Musical T-shirt will make me just as happy. So I’ve decided that when I want to have It, I can.
While it’s unrealistic to spend two hours getting ready and trying on seventeen different outfits in the morning the way I could pre-baby, there are certain smaller things I can do to help the transformation along on days when I’m feeling ambitious. A couple of them are time-consuming, so they don’t all happen on the same day but doing at least one of them makes me feel pretty and happy. Like, Molly Ringwald-dancing-like-a-dork-in-The-Breakfast-Club-happy. Such as: shaving my legs, putting on mascara, blow-drying my hair, wearing cute underwear and oddly enough, making my bed. I know that last one doesn’t make sense, but for some reason making the bed makes me feel all productive and powerful and shout “Now I will be ruler of the sea!” like Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Okay, maybe that’s a little more evil than I intended, but I think you get my point.
The fact is, I don’t make an effort to have It for the benefit of anyone else. I do it for myself. When I’m feeling like a crappy parent because Thumper is biting kids at the library, blow-drying those stupid frizzies out of my hair feels nice. Or if I’m grumpy because this week’s episode of Glee is a re-run, then wearing pretty underwear is like my secret little pick-me-up. Those five simple things make me feel good. And when I feel good, I am a nicer person, so it’s worth it to spend a little extra time on myself some days.
I guess I should reconsider my earlier statement. It’s not that I Don’t Have It, it’s that I Only Have It Once or Twice a Week. The only thing left to worry about now is my boobs. If anyone has any suggestions on how to make them look as awesome as they did when I was 23 without getting a boob job, it would be much appreciated.