Thursday, June 21, 2007

"in Birkenstocks with butter in her hair"

That's how Barb of sothethingis described herself at the grocery store, and I just had to laugh. Many days, that's me - except intead of having butter in my hair, I have spit up and drool all over my left shoulder courtesy of my teething baby.

Take today for example, it's 11:15 and I still haven't showered even though I left the house to take Ella to swim lessons and then deliver her to a friend's house. The morning was crazier than usual and I never managed to find 5 minutes to shower. I've also reverted back to pajamas. I was hoping to take a nap while Campbell slept since I've had a total of about 10 hours of sleep in the past two nights, but senor poopy-pants decided he only needed to nap for 40 minutes. I had just dozed off when he started crying because he had a full diaper. I'm so tired I can barely type, but he's happily demonstrating his new crawling skills by heading under the desk and getting tangled in computer cables.

I've recently bought some new clothes in an attempt to look a little more put together. I figure it's time I stop having a wardrobe consisting entirely of shorts and freebie t-shirts. I bought two cute skirts and some nice polo shirts. I felt cute and sassy in one of my new outfits until I caught sight of myself in the window of a store - even though the clothes came from the Gap and J. Crew and I most decidedly don't live in the burbs, I look like a middle-aged suburban mom wearing sensible, wash-and-wear clothes. Big sigh.

I looked at the cute little shirts they have in the stores now - the ones you're supposed to wear with leggings and the ones with the spaghetti straps and empire waists - but I'd look ridiculous in the first and I can't wear the second because I'm still nursing. Even the cutest nursing bras don't go with spaghetti straps, no matter what Gwen Stefani might think. I read in a magazine once that she was a big fan of some brand that sold leopard print nursing bras. The article had pictures of the bras, but there was no getting around what they were.

So I guess all this boils down to the fact that I'm having a bit of an identity crisis. I'm 36 and a mother to three kids. It seems I'm destined to look like a slightly frumpy mom or a very ridiculous one. I can't decide which is worse. Maybe I just need to stick with my shorts, t-shirts and Birkenstocks. They're all more comfortable anyway.

1 comment:

Barb Matijevich said...

I can so relate to this. And I haven't had any exercise since January so today, when I was at my physical therapist's and trying desperately to avoid looking at myself in the full-lenth mirror, I finally confronted the image and the truth. I no longer look like a frumpy mother. I look like a frumpy GRANDMOTHER. I mean, I know I'm 42 but I just didn't realize that the slippery slope was a sheer drop-off. --Barb