Raising two young children has left me very little time to take care of myself. But, I realized I had let things slip a little too much when I crawled into bed the other night and the bottoms of my feet snagged my new sheets. Yes, they literally pulled threads out. With morbid curiosity, I pulled my foot up to my face and examined my forlorn feet. The polish was chipped, the toenails looked like caveman nails, and the soles were so rough I could have grated Wisconsin cheese on them.
I ran to the bathroom and took a critical look at myself in the mirror. When had my scientifically enhanced red hair returned to its natural dishpan brown? When was my last haircut? And my pores! They looked like a kid’s connect-the-dots coloring book. How could I not notice these little things?
Everyday I do little things. I make toast for breakfast. I pick up toys. I wash little hands. I comfort, entertain, and love two little boys. Everything I do is important, but nothing I do is terribly difficult, time-consuming or monumental. If asked about my day, I would have nothing amazing to report. But, it’s doing all those little things that keeps me sane, keeps my kids sane, and keeps my household functioning.
I never say that I don’t have time to do these little things, because I know that if I stopped, I would never be able to catch up. Each task would seem enormous. It is the same with being a hip, pulled-together mom. So what if I don’t have time to sit at the beauty salon and have professional facials, pedicures, and hair coloring jobs on a regular basis; I can still find time to take care of myself the way I did before having a family. I just need to stop feeling like it’s an all or nothing proposition. And I definitely can’t let it go so long that my feet begin to resemble my 85 year-old grandfather’s feet!
Tonight’s “To do” list: Laundry, dishes, paint toenails, change sheets on kids’ beds, facial, relax.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Hip Mom Rule #1: It Still Matters
I knew I shouldn’t do it. I know better. You NEVER wear brown shoes with a black sweater. But, being 33 weeks pregnant and exhausted from a day of chasing around an 18-month old, I thought, “Who is really going to care what color shoes I have on when I can’t even see my own feet!”
So, I chose to walk out the door in my brown shoes and black sweater. Seriously, with a good-looking husband and a cute toddler, who would really notice me anyway?
Once we got to the mall, I became increasingly self-conscious of my poor shoe selection. Everywhere I looked, I saw well-put together women who had chosen to follow the fashion rules. I felt like Janet Jackson after SuperBowl 2003 – major wardrobe malfunction!! I was miserably conspicuous. Women everywhere seemed to wonder what a well-dressed man like my husband was doing with this fashion train wreck at his side. All because I didn’t take the time to change my shoes.
The thing with pregnancy and new momhood is that we tend to put others’ needs well before our own. By the time we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, we barely resemble the put-together, hip women that we used to be. Instead, a bedraggled, exhausted woman stares back. At no time in my pre-baby life would I have been too lazy or tired to care how I looked.
A hip mom won’t be “put-together” every time she walks out the door, but this hip mom will NOT walk out the door again just not caring. Therefore, I will not leave for Target in my sweat pants. I will not be in my pajamas when my husband gets home from work. I will not go three days without washing my hair, and then cover the evidence with an old, dirty baseball cap. Black pants, black socks. And if this means asking my husband to tie the shoelaces on the only shoes that match that black sweater, then so be it.
I am a fashion conscious, hip mom, so I must continue fighting to maintain some semblance of my fashionable self in this new maze of dirty diapers, stained shirts, and perfume d’spitup.
So, I chose to walk out the door in my brown shoes and black sweater. Seriously, with a good-looking husband and a cute toddler, who would really notice me anyway?
Once we got to the mall, I became increasingly self-conscious of my poor shoe selection. Everywhere I looked, I saw well-put together women who had chosen to follow the fashion rules. I felt like Janet Jackson after SuperBowl 2003 – major wardrobe malfunction!! I was miserably conspicuous. Women everywhere seemed to wonder what a well-dressed man like my husband was doing with this fashion train wreck at his side. All because I didn’t take the time to change my shoes.
The thing with pregnancy and new momhood is that we tend to put others’ needs well before our own. By the time we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, we barely resemble the put-together, hip women that we used to be. Instead, a bedraggled, exhausted woman stares back. At no time in my pre-baby life would I have been too lazy or tired to care how I looked.
A hip mom won’t be “put-together” every time she walks out the door, but this hip mom will NOT walk out the door again just not caring. Therefore, I will not leave for Target in my sweat pants. I will not be in my pajamas when my husband gets home from work. I will not go three days without washing my hair, and then cover the evidence with an old, dirty baseball cap. Black pants, black socks. And if this means asking my husband to tie the shoelaces on the only shoes that match that black sweater, then so be it.
I am a fashion conscious, hip mom, so I must continue fighting to maintain some semblance of my fashionable self in this new maze of dirty diapers, stained shirts, and perfume d’spitup.
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