The other day I was picking the girls up from daycare and one of the other infant moms came in Sarah's room to get her offspring. She was extremely well put together. She wore a lovely suit, light pink with brown accents. She looked pressed and neat and busy and important. She could not possibly consider removing her blue tooth earpiece prior to entering the center to get the child she hadn't seen all day. When I walked in that day I felt pretty good, but upon seeing her, I began to feel like a frumpy mess of a person. How does she look like that at 5:30PM? And do the fruits of her loins ever look like this?
Probably not. The thing is, and I was worried motherhood might have this effect on me, I don't really care. I might wistfully long to be a more well arranged figure in the world for a few minutes, but really, I just want to come home and kick around in old comfy clothes and let my kids slather teething biscuit all over the place or run around bottomless. I'm not even sure it's motherhood that's made me this way. There's an excellent chance I'm just a little bit lazy.