I Used to Look Like Pam Anderson...And Then I Had A Baby

Merriam Webster defines sexy as, "generally attractive or interesting; stimulating," and ugly as, "offensive to the sight; unpleasant to any sense."  I'd like to introduce myself.  My name is ugly and I just had a baby nine months ago.

Well, wait a second.  I guess I'm not really ugly, but based on Merriam's definition, how can I deny it?  I am offensive to the sight and considering the last shower I took was Thursday, I'm probably pretty unpleasant to quite a few senses.  But, wait, before I get ahead of myself I guess I should probably explain what I mean by sexy as opposed to ugly.  To me, right now, when I talk about sexy, I'm talking about being physically sexy - like sexy as in clothing, hair, make-up, nails - all the superficial things we, as a society, consider sexy.  And, don't get me wrong, although I, personally, believe a woman's intellect, personality, and sense of humor also makes her sexy, for all intents and purposes when I say sexy in this article, I mean my appearance.  And, when I say ugly, I mean the same thing.

For most of my adult life I've considered myself sexy.  Not sexy in a slutty, in-your-face, lucite heels, fake boobs, spray-tanned, bottle blonde, kind of way (a la Pam Anderson), but more like a subtle, well-dressed, fit, intelligent, fake boobs, pretty-but-not-over-the-top, kind of way (a la Jennifer Anniston).  And, look, not that I wouldn't love to be as sexy and desireable as Pam Anderson (and not like I think Jennifer Anniston is really that sexy at all, or that I even want to look like her), I'm just trying to give you a mental picture of my idea of the different degrees of sexy. Needless to say, at the mid-point of sexy on the how-sexy-are-you scale, I wasn't over the top with my sexual "appearance."  So, why, all of a sudden, as a new mom, am I struggling with being "sexy?"  Can't one balance being a mom and being sexy?

After my daughter was born I, of course, wasn't able to fit into my pre-baby clothes and that's when my struggle with sexy began.  What made the situation even worse was the season change from winter to spring.  I had spent my entire pregnancy in sheer black tissue tees with a black cami underneath, maternity jeans, and tall, black, Frye boots.  Even pregnant I felt sexy.  Fast forward nine months and I'm bloated, pale, tit sore and weary, with nothing to wear for spring and summer and a new born on my hip.  My cute sun dresses from last summer would never do; they just seemed to "young."  And the shorts I'd spent most of my adult life in now seemed, I don't know, so short.  My clingy summer tissue tees were just that - clingy - in all the wrong places.  My girlish figure gone, I was just shy of Women and Plus sizes in regular clothes.  What the hell was I supposed to wear?  I guess it didn't help that my new "friends" were new moms of two and four year olds who were also going through a new mom identity crisis. and were plum out of answers for this new mom.  I'll give you an example of one of our interactions.

One of my new friends, I'll call her Morgan, and I were talking about going bathing suit shopping.  She's a mom of a two year old and a six year old and sexy probably wouldn't be the first word you would think of when you met her.  Preppy or conservative might come to mind.  Anyway, we joined a swim club last summer and though we both agreed a teeny bikini was inappropriate, we couldn't agree on what actually was appropriate to wear to the pool.  "Is a tankini too over the top?"  I asked her one day during a phone conversation.  "I talked to Michelle," she rapid fired into the phone, "and she found amazing suits at the Eddie Bauer shop inside Sears.  She bought four.  That's where we're going."  I hung up the phone.  Sears?  For a bathing suit?  Really?  Suddenly, middle age mommy-hood was staring me right in the face and it was wearing a floral printed, skirted, tankini.  

By the beginning of fall, it was tough to believe five months had passed since my daughter was born and that I'd spent the entire summer in a two piece, skirted bathing suit.  I'm pretty sure severe sleep deprivation creates some sort of weird time warp where you're brain just shuts down and you wake up like two and a half years later.  "Wow, it's your second birthday already?  And, look at me wearing these size sixteen khaki pants and an XXL polo."  Unstylish, unsexy motherhood just creeps up on you like that.  Anyway, that's when I started to realize my sexy factor was not just slightly off ("Oh, everyone looks like that after they have a baby," my overweight, under styled, mom friends lied), it was non-existent.  Between transitioning from breast feeding to bottle feeding, (did I mention severe sleep deprivation?), lack of sex from said severe sleep deprivation, broken out skin, too long/unstyled/ uncut hair, this weird c-section tummy flab, pale, dried out skin, no make-up, unkempt nails, un-pedicured feet, and my day-in/day-out uniform of sweats, long sleeve tee shirts and Uggs, I was not only officially undesirable.  I was ugly.

But, wait!  I looked around at all of my mom friends and, guess what?  They were ugly, too!  Of course I didn't realize I was flying down the road to ugly at warp speed - everyone around me was as ugly as me!Their hair wasn't done.  Their nails weren't done.  Their feet were bumped up - crusty ass, dried up, cracked heels - the same feet I swore I'd never, EVER, have...guess what?  I had them now, too.  I looked at their outfits and you'll never guess.  Yup, they, too, were all wearing sweats and Uggs and long sleeve tee shirts.  Just.  Like.  Me.  Wait a cotton-pickin' minute here.  Did I become a member of some Wal-Mart purchased, Hanes bra wearing, loafer buying (comfort, not style), color my hair in my bathroom, who-needs-make-up-anyway, secret society whose initiation requires a visit to the labor and delivery room of a local hospital?  WTF?  So, I decided to ask them (at a candle party, of course, because that's like the "BIG NIGHT OUT" now) what they used to look like before they had kids and I wasn't surprised by their answers.

"I never missed a hair appointment."  "I had my nails done every other week and a pedicure every three weeks."  "I used to shop at Victoria's Secret."  "My husband and I used to hump like rabbits."  (She's the one with five kids.)  "Oh, I always had a nice handbag.  But, why bother now?  I have to carry a diaper bag and it's just too much."  "I was always so pulled together."  "I used to be so, I don't know, sexy."  So, I asked, looking around at all the L.L. Bean, Eddie Bauer, Talbot's, and Ann Taylor clad, sensible hair-cut, mascara and lip gloss only, crowd, why don't you look like that anymore?  What happened? Seventeen voices replied simultaneously, "Kids."  Ugh.  I picked up my glass of white wine (responsible mom's drink of choice) and took a long swallow.  So, this is what I have to look forward to, huh?

I've learned a lot since that night and I've also asked a lot more questions about being a mom and being sexy.  One of those questions is, how does the sexy vs. mommy issue affect our husbands?  I'll cover that in my next article.  Until then, be sexy moms...be sexy.

I Used To Be Pretty...And Then I Had A Baby.

Okay, I'm back.  The baby is playing on the floor with the dog so I have a few minutes to write.  A few days ago I watched Uma Thurman's new movie, "Motherhood."  It's supposed to be a comedy about a mom who loses her intellectual edge and sense of self after she has kids.  A comedy?  Really?  I'd actually call that a documentary starring me.

I know this is not a new topic - this "I had a baby - what happened to me?" movie/documentary/conversation .  So many women with children that I talk to say the same thing over and over again: "I feel like I've disappeared...like after I've given everything to the kids and to my husband there's nothing left for me..."  (And, hang in there, I'll finish that sentence for you: "...so I don't take a shower (and if I do, I won't shave my legs since it takes too long), or I'll not wash my hair because that takes too long and it takes even longer to blow it dry and flat iron it (especially when I have a screaming nine month old clinging to my legs while I'm trying to blow dry it and flat iron it), or I'll not work out today (because I have a nine month old trying to climb up my legs while I'm trying to do P90X), or go to the bathroom (because I have a nine month old trying to climb onto my lap while I'm on the toilet), or talk on the phone, or get a facial, or visit with friends, or go to Starbucks, or the mall, or go to the salon, or go tanning, or get a manicure or pedicure, or, or, or...the list goes on and on).  

Prior to my daughter being born I had a successful sales career, a glowing complexion, the ability to have brilliant conversations with adults, and beautifully polished toenails.  My house was immaculately clean (all the time), I showered every day, had regular hair appointments, and had randy sex with my husband on the regular.  I had time to work out, ride my horse, do laundry, read the Harvard Business Review, and pluck my eyebrows.  I wore nice clothes and carried a nice handbag.  Fast forward nine and a half months and here is a literal, this is happening as I write, image of my life:

I slept til eight thirty this morning - the baby was up four times last night.  I haven't showered since Monday (today's Wednesday). I'm in the same pajamas I wore to bed Monday night (and worked out in yesterday afternoon and slept in last night) and I have B.O. (and hairy armpits).  My hair hasn't been washed since Saturday when I had it cut for the first time in a year.  There are two half filled glasses of iced tea, a half empty baby bottle and a full baby bottle on the side table, and two messy diapers on the kitchen counter that haven't made it out to the poopy diaper bag on the porch.  The dog barfed on my comforter last night.  I find myself humming the theme song to The Wonder Pets while I wash baby bottles.  My eyebrows look like something out of a horror movie and my moustache and chin hair (thanks hormones) make me look a bit like an awkward teenage boy growing his first beard hair.  My leg hair is getting long enough to style and highlight and my bush hair hasn't been waxed in eighteen months - thank God on the rare occasion that my husband and I do shag, it's in the dark.  I have three loads of laundry on the laundry room floor, my nail polish is chipped and dull, and my toes and heels are bUmPeD up (I could probably refinish my hardwood floors by walking around barefoot my heels are that rough).  My skin is horrible - dry, dull, and pimply for the first time since adolescence - and, quite frankly, on the rare occasion I have a chance to put on make up, it doesn't really help.  At all. 

(Real snapshot continued...it's taken me three hours just to write the above paragraphs)

I live in sweats - sometimes jeans and a sweater if I'm feeling brave - because I am covered in boogies, baby food, and spit up.  I never wear earrings because my daughter pulls them out.  I don't carry a handbag anymore because it's easier to just slip my wallet and Chapstick into the diaper bag.  My adult conversations consist of topics like teething, sleep deprivation, pediatricians, organic versus non-organic, and other tantalizing points of interest like age appropriate toys and videos.  The only reading I do is devotionals - and that's while I'm on the toilet - because they're only ten sentences long. 

Now, before you start thinking I'm some sort of self absorbed asshole who shouldn't have had a kid in the first place, know this - I AM IN LOOOOOOOVE WITH MY DAUGHTER.  Even in all of the hairy armpit, un-styled hair chaos, I am in love with how amazing my life is with her in it.  I am in awe of how amazing my relationship with my husband has become as a result of our daughter being born.  I am just also in awe of, and fascinated by, how quickly the woman I perceived as my "self" disappeared and how quickly this strange, smelly, disorganized, hairy, sleep deprived, bearded, bandit crept in and took her place.  So, was I ever really the professional, well-dressed, articulate, pulled together woman I thought I was?  Or, was I really Golum from the Lord of the Rings?  You know, the guy who was normal looking and then suddenly turns into, well, Golum.   

Another thing I'm fascinated by is the fact that since my daughter was born I've completely changed, my life has completely changed, but my husband's life hasn't changed in the least.  Well, that's not totally true.  It's changed a little bit - he's getting less sex and his sleep is getting interrupted more.  Not interrupted to the degree that he actually gets out of the bed and feeds the baby when she wakes up in the middle of the night.  More like interrupted because he rolls over, nudges me and says, "The baby's up."  Other than that, his life has carried on as usual.  Well, wait, that's not entirely true.  Discovering that the woman he married is actually Golum has gotten him a little bit of celebrity status.  Anyway, he still goes to Starbucks and the shooting range; goes for cocktails with his business partner, and travels to fun destinations like Las Vegas (he's leaving in two weeks) and Newport Beach, California (in two months) for work without a worry in the world.  He never has to ask me, "Would you mind hanging out with the baby for a few hours so I can meet so and so for lunch?"  Or, "I'd really like to take a shower.  Can you keep an eye on the baby for a few minutes?"  Or, "I was thinking about going to the range.  Will you be around to hang out with the bambino for a few hours?"  What the hell?  And, why does he still look so boyishly handsome and I look so, I don't know, haggard?  Why does he still continue on with the freedoms we had pre-baby and I have to basically schedule a babysitter to take a shit?  I don't get it.  

Anyway, I definitely want to continue to explore the "I used to be pretty and stylish...and then I had a baby" conversation but my husband will be home in three hours and if he sees me in the same pajamas I've been in since Monday night...let's just not go there.  LOL!

This is to be continued...