I had a sad revelation the other day. I was sitting at a red light where a (presumably) homeless man was begging for change. I reached out of my window to hand him a bottled water and some crackers (I don't give out money because I don't want to support a potential crack habit) and I noticed that he was dressed about as well as I was.
We both had on ratty, stained t-shirts (granted, mine was stained from furniture varnish and his was stained with what appeared to be pigeon feces), faded jeans, and sandals that were clinging on by a thread. It was kind of depressing, but I went about my way.
Over the past few months, I've gradually started dressing dumpier and dumpier. This is, in part, due to my new-found hobbies like refinishing furniture, spray painting light fixtures, and shellacking everything that can't run away. It's also due to a new-found frugality that I'm employing where, as my deep-South mother would say, I "pinch a penny until Lincoln hollers".
As a mom, it's hard to justify doing anything for yourself. I would surmise that this is even worse among stay-at-home-moms because we're not contributing anything financially, so therefore the "I Deserve This" mentality shuts off more easily. I find that if I DO have any extra money on my hands, I'm buying something for Jack, David, or the house.
My unwillingness to buy anything for myself, coupled with the fact I banished all my stylish pre-baby clothes to the back of my closet because I was too fat to wear them resulted in a repertoire of t-shirts, athletic shorts, and the same pair of jeans I'd been wearing since the Bush Administration.
My very dear friends tried staging an intervention by buying me a new outfit for my birthday. That helped, because I then owned at least ONE outfit that didn't look like it came from the "Derelict" fashion line from the movie "Zoolander". But for the most part, the parade of "What Not to Wear" continued.
The game-changer came this week when my mom was visiting. We went shopping, and I was wearing my usual ensemble, with the slight variation that I had on a faded polo shirt as opposed to a faded Boston Red Sox t-shirt. To make a long story short, my mom coerced me into trying on a really cute outfit, and I realized that the 15 lbs I had lost since having Jack was visible, and I looked GOOD.
It was kind of an eye-opener for me that my MOTHER was dressing better than I was. (No offense, Mom.) So we got that outfit, and two more. To my immense surprise, David jumped on the bandwagon too, insisting that I now needed new shoes to replace my current pair, which resembled something out of an American Eagle catalog, only smellier. He also bought me new make-up. I'd been so bent on saving money that even when my old make-up ran out, I tried to make do by mixing remnants of make-up that was too dark with make-up that was too light, stirring in some moisturizer, and hoping for the best. The result was that I looked slightly vitamin-deficient.
To top it off, my new wardrobe success prompted me to excavate my entire closet and try on everything I was "too fat" for. I nearly had a heart attack when I found that it all fit again. After a few dozen prayers of thanksgiving and what can best be described as a rain dance mixed with a seizure, it occurred to me that I'd been dressing like a vagrant for so long that I didn't even realize I'd lost all the baby weight. (Actually to be more precise, it was the weight that one of my medicines had caused me to re-gain, since the PPD had me back at my pre-baby weight within weeks, but we'll go down that road another time.)
As I sit here typing, I'm totally bombing on the happy-vibes that can only come from feeling good about the way you look. Maybe I'm indulging archaic stereotypes of women, and maybe I'm even being a little vain, but it's just what this disheveled mommy needed.
xoxo :)
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