Do you remember when you used to care what you look like? If your mind is going as fuzzy as your legs are right now, pull up a Diet Coke and let’s pull ourselves together.
The other day I was looking at old pictures and thought, “Who is that girl?” That girl is a someone who is looks like she can put on makeup. She is probably pretty confident. Her eyes don’t look tired. She remembers deodorant.
If nothing else, she is just a portrayal of public decency and self respect.
To pay homage to Ashton Hawker, who would be shocked and appalled by Ashton Scurr, I decided, “This is it. Time for some mom maintenance,” and towed Gus along on my quest for beautification. My first instinct was to beeline for Sephora. As I tend to overdose on their samples, I decided to spare Gus witnessing Mom walk out of there looking like a transvestite and skipped it altogether.
We went to Target instead, and Gus talked me out of spending $15k on lip gloss and table decor. Instead, we came away with Crest White Strips. I’ll let you know if I remember to use them.
We did venture to the mall, and I realized I was unsure of my post-baby clothes size. I wandered aimlessly while debating if my level of mentally stability would allow me to try on jeans in fluorescent dressing room lighting, four months out from childbirth. I happened to gravitate into the food court during my deliberation, and fought a strong urge to eat my feelings at Hot Dog on a Stick. Cheese on a stick, anyone? American? Pepper jack? I avoided it for SO LONG, maybe ten minutes, but I eventually gave in to a lemonade. I could never pass up fresh lemonade squeezed by teens in some fresh outfits.
I sipped as I browsed in stores, and continued to guess my size by holding up those clothes and not actually looking at the size tags. I decided to avoid confirming those guesses and just bought a shark sweatshirt…I don’t know. I couldn’t help it. Sorry, Ashton Hawker.
Maybe I should stop striving for new-mom cool, and start with refreshing the basics, like personal hygiene and leg shaving.