I spend at least 90% of my life in yoga pants and zero percent of my life doing yoga. My signature scent is eau de spilled coffee, with a sprinkle of leaky breast milk and occasionally, a splash of toilet water from spraying off a poopy diaper. Literally the only time I actually style my hair is when I know I’m going to be photographed that day.
Yes, I’m a hot mess mom.
When I envisioned my motherhood, this isn’t what I expected of myself. I imagined that, even though I was half of a hot mess already from spending my days working from home, motherhood would make me get my act 100% together. I thought I would magically make the time for showers and make up and curling irons (I know, you guys – I’m laughing at former me, too. Apparently the pregnancy hallucinations were real strong over here). And for the first three months, my messy buns were fine. I mean, you’re not supposed to have your life together three months after having a baby, much less your physical appearance. And then those three months stretched into six. And twelve. And I thought, alright – year one is down! NOW, I’ll finally start dressing and looking like a human again.
But here we are, on the verge of 16 months and I’m chasing a toddler around gym class in the same sweatpants I wore all weekend long.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve Googled “how to be a put together mom”. I’m not even kidding – I’ve literally Googled those exact words (other phrases I’ve Googled since becoming a Mom: “how to fix your hair after a sweaty workout without taking a shower” and “fastest make up routine”). It would be embarrassing if it weren’t so damn amusing.
I’ve read one thousand times on one thousand different mothering blogs that I just need to make the time to get ready in the morning. That I’ll feel so much better if I do – I’ll be more productive, I’ll be more self-confident, I’ll be happier. And it’s totally true. When I do get a chance to spend an hour actually showering, primping and dressing in clothes that don’t involve elastic or spandex, I do feel good. Occasionally I even feel pretty again. But you know what feels better? Spending an hour baking healthy cookies with Knox (and a second hour cleaning up the mess from letting a toddler help bake cookies). Or spending an hour working out so I can be a saner, more patient mother (and to counteract those times I’m not a sane mother and I eat my weight in not-so-healthy cookies). Or spending an hour with Knox scooping out pumpkin guts and watering the garden, the sidewalk, himself and me without worrying how many stains my clothes are acquiring.
Some day I’ll have time to properly prepare myself in the morning. Some day I’ll be a put together mom. Until then, I’ll take my under-eye bags and my dirt smeared yoga pants with a big side of clingy toddler hugs, please.