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.

Hip Mom Rule #16: Challenge Yourself to Realize a Dream

I got roped into it innocently enough. I was out for lunch with a couple of my girlfriends when the conversation shifted to a triathlon they were training for. It was several months off, but they were already in the middle of a serious training schedule.  “That sounds like a lot of fun!” I enthusiastically said. “Was I interested in doing it, too?” my hip friends asked. I was kind of interested in doing it. It had always been a long-shot dream of mine to complete a triathlon, but it was a silly dream because I don’t really swim. I know how to swim, but it’s more in a way of survival than in any kind of competitive form. Honestly, I have NO form, competitive or otherwise.

After a little bullying from my well-intentioned friends, I found myself registering for a triathlon that I was pretty sure I would cop out of at the last minute. Still, I went shopping for some hip goggles and a swim cap to complement my swimsuit, fully aware of the fact that I had never worn either one in my life and had no idea what I was doing (how in the world does one make a swim cap look hip?!). 

A couple nights later my friends called and invited me to the pool to practice for the triathlon. I agreed it was probably a good idea to get a couple laps under my belt before the tri in eight weeks. I hadn’t actually swum a lap since I was in college, but I’m pretty fit and determined and figured I could wing it. So, after spending five minutes trying to figure out how to put on the swim cap and how to adjust the goggles, I gingerly toed the water, and jumped in. The good news is that I didn’t drown. The bad news is that I spent a full two minutes clinging to the edge of the pool catching my breath, after one lap. I was going to have to take this swimming a little more seriously if I was going to survive the race.

For the next seven weeks I trained like I was in the army. I ran and biked one day. Ran and swam one day. Swam, biked, and ran. I worked harder than I have for many years, all the while trying to ignore the little voice in my head that was insisting that I was going to drown on race day.

“Well, if I’m going to die, I’m at least going to be hip about it,” I declared to my husband as I pulled out my new racing bra and racing pants. It was the night before the race, and secretly, we were both really proud of my pursuing this dream. “Might as well give it the old college try.”

And I did not cop out. I did not drown. I did not die. Unbelievably, I didn’t even come in last! I set a difficult goal, and I accomplished it. And this hip mom has had an extra spring in her step ever since crossing that finish line.