My husband and I have decided to go out for a fancy dinner Saturday night to celebrate my 31st (eeek!) birthday. On my way home from doing errands, I excitedly call him at work to proclaim, "I am going to blow-dry my hair for the occasion!" It saddens me to admit that this has not happened since before my second child was born 3 months ago, but I eagerly look forward to an occasion that necessitates me actually putting forth the slightest bit of effort into my appearance. As I contemplate what outfit will fit my "no-longer in maternity clothes, yet still too big for my regular clothes" body, I glance down at my outfit of choice for today -- the outfit I wore out, in public, to run errands with my children.... The pajama pants (which I had worn to bed the night before and still had not changed out of) have both yellow and blue paint on them, reminding me that I had worn them to paint both of my children's rooms. The black long-sleeve t-shirt has a bleach stain on one sleeve and a small, yet growing hole in one armpit (also worn to bed the night before). Furthermore, having spent much of the morning embarking on the pointless endeavor that we mommies call "cleaning the house", I am not wearing my wedding ring. As I drive home from the last of my morning errands robotically singing "Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" along to the CD playing, the other half of my brain cannot help but wonder if the 17-year old cashier at CVS noticed my ringless hand and thought to himself, "No wonder your husband left you. You are a mess."
Hopefully a much improved woman emerges Saturday night! I will not put my "dinner" shirt on until 30 seconds before leaving the house. It will be nice -- for once -- to be able to turn my head and not smell baby puke on my shoulder, especially while enjoying an expensive steak and a glass (or two) of red.