I am frumpy. I probably was before having Charlie and I certainly am now. I know that I’m frumpy. The thing is… I don’t care.
Currently, I consider my aesthetically good days to be the days where I dodge a glob of oatmeal meant for my hair, have a near miss with being thrown up on, and no part of me is mysteriously sticky. Forget wearing matching clothes, keeping up with a regular haircut schedule, or even having a clue as to what is in style. These things are luxuries that do not currently fit into my life.
My clothes have to be easy to wash, stain treat, be replaced without a second thought, and require no ironing (who wants to spend time on that?). During incredibly busy weeks, I like to be able to pull things from the dryer and throw them on. I keep a set of back up clothes tucked away in the car for unavoidable mishaps.
Additionally, clothes have to stay in place and provide coverage despite the constant bending, being pulled on, and odd maneuvers. I prefer to refrain from bearing it all to the world while being tugged on by Charlie or bent over in a mad sprint to catch her. (It’s amazing how fast she can crawl.)
Also, I have to keep in mind textures. I want to be comfortable. More importantly, the material needs to be tolerated by my sensory sensitive baby. I don’t want to add to her stress when she needs to be soothed.
My hair is another issue. I had long hair before Charlie’s birth. While she was in the NICU, I had it chopped off. She constantly grabbed it and it always seemed to be in the way. It was easiest to cut it off during a time when germ control and ease of care were of highest priority.
Now, I’m growing it back out. I will not have to get it cut as often and I can easily pull it back. Unfortunately, it is in that in between stage… frumpy.
I have decided that I am going to own being frumpy in the same way that I’ve decided to own crying at random. They have become my things. For the time being, it is how my life works.
Some may be horrified and others may question my sanity after reading that last statement. Rest assured, while preemie parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, it is not bad. Just challenging.
Right now, it feels like trail running to me. There are times that are similar to a grueling uphill run and moments as smooth as a down hill coast. Eventually, things are supposed to level out and I will be able to catch my breath.
I have accepted the fact that I am not one of those women that can be an amazing mom and look good doing it. I’ve seen those women and they blow my mind. I do not know how they do it. Instead, I am proud to say that I am a great mom, albeit far from glamorous.