Imagine my surprise upon realizing that my new infant and my favorite cashmere sweater were not compatible. Well, rather, my infant liked the sweater, the latter experiencing its first coating of spit-up and slobber. I had no idea what I was in for. 12 months later, I continue to learn about the tenuous pairing of motherhood and style.
The typical day trying to be a stylish mother:
Get up early for a nice long shower. Child pounds on shower door until you relent and let him in. He knocks down every product in the shower, and you can’t shave lest the razor get anywhere near him, he has those crazy trick arms that look short, but have a six foot span.
Dry hair while dancing to the noise with child while child “rearranges” your beauty products. He mimics your routine, which you know would make his father proud. Find your wayward makeup (in the tub, toilet and garbage) and get it on, quick! Ok, good face this morning, great eye makeup… You pick up little one for a look in the mirror, what a cute pair! Yes, I’m a hot mama! Child goes in for a kiss, and, oh no… it’s a sneeze! You wipe the snot from your eyebrow and decide to get dressed.
Dresses are out if you’re nursing.
Low cut tops are out if your little one has a “security boob” (anything unfamiliar and a little hand shoots down your shirt).
Dry clean only fabrics are out, white is out, anything that snags…
Ok, jeans and a cute top, I can do this. Put on those pre-baby designer jeans. Is there a such thing as a “jean horn”? You know, like a shoe-horn, that people used to use to slide those tight shoes on? I might have an idea here… Did I have a baby in my butt? Why does it look deflated? Oh well. Find a top that is still in style and covers the muffin top…
Feed little one. Now there’s yogurt on your shoulder but that’s ok, it’s fairly transparent.
Play. Little one gives you the sweetest kiss… on the eye. Unbeknownst to you there is a spreading mascara smudge just under your right eye.
Diaper change. Child says no to this. After the war-like struggle, you clean the poop off of your elbow and get on with your day.
You head out, little one in tow, for some shopping before nap. You cannot try anything on because of little one’s dressing room claustrophobia but somehow you find an amazing pair of gladiator heels and an adorable top on sale! Head to line. Little one is DONE. Major freak out happening here. It is nap time, NOW. He is writhing like someone possessed out of his stroller, screaming in outrage, and people are looking at you. You imagine they are thinking: “what a selfish mother, that child looks so tired and she is out shopping…in this economy? How irresponsible, she probably doesn’t even work she should be home cleaning or something that child has no manners I bet his mother just ignores him and shops all day.”
You flee, leaving the stuff on the counter. Gladiator heels, ha. Try catching the kid in those.
Child sleeps in car and when you get home he is AWAKE! Ready for fun!
Fold laundry while child unfolds, licks and throws each item into the laundry room garbage bin.
Change into sweats because we’re not going anywhere else today.
Child naps again. Bills, clean bathrooms, do six sit-ups, start dinner.
Child wakes. Try to plant some flowers in the new pots that have been sitting on the patio for three months. Play in the dirt instead.
Handsome Husband arrives, wearing a nice suit. You great him covered in dirt, yogurt, snot, spit, sweat, hopefully no poop, wearing ratty sweats, smudged mascara, and a frightening little-old-lady bun. You go in for a kiss and he does the duck and weave… and pats you on the shoulder.
So the point of this story is. I understand. I do. Keep trying. Don’t give up, ladies. We can do this hot mama thing.