Flashback Saturday: Hip Mom Rule #1

I started these Hip Mom Rules when I was pregnant with my second child. Now that my children are older, it's fun to look back on these rules and see how they've shaped who I am as a mom to three boys as we head into their late elementary and middle school years. I'll be posting a new Hip Mom Rule every other Wednesday and a Flashback rule on the alternating Saturdays until I catch up! If you don't want to miss one, go ahead and subscribe! It would make my day. :)

 Hip Mom Rule #1: It Still Matters
I knew I shouldn’t do it. I know better. You NEVER wear brown leather shoes with black pants. 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!” Besides, with a good-looking husband and a cute toddler, who would really notice me anyway?

Once we got to the mall, I became increasingly irritated by my poor shoe selection. I'm normally more pulled together than this. My husband looked great; my toddler looked adorable. And please don't misunderstand. It wasn't that I cared a bit about what others thought of my outfit; it was all about the fact that I hadn't taken time to dress myself confidently. I was suddenly and acutely aware of how little time I had been spending on myself as I addressed the needs of my growing family.

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 let being tired prevent me from making at least SOME effort.

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 those  black pants, then so be it.

I want to be my best version of myself, and I see that as including being a hip mom. For that reason, I will continue fighting to maintain some semblance of my fashionable self in this new maze of dirty diapers, stained shirts, and perfume d’spitup.