Did you ever see one of those mom makeover segments on a show like Live with Regis and Kelly and wonder What is wrong with that woman? I mean, do the moms that they find for these shows REALLY look SO tragic in real life? Dull, stringy hair and a general overall look that just DEFINES frumpy? A few years ago this didn’t seem possible to me. It seemed to me like they must have given the woman of the day an unmakeover prior to her “before” picture. But, now I’m a mother. A tragic mother. My teeth aren’t yellow and falling out. And my glasses are more recent than 1984, but, yes, I really look this … frumpy. My hair is dirty. And falling out of its lopsided ponytail. My jeans have a hole in the knee a la 3rd-grade boy. My skin is dry. There are circles under my eyes. This morning I may have actually washed my face with moisturizer instead of cleanser. (I have recently discovered this to be a repeated exercise on my part. Brilliant.)
I need a makeover, folks. The whole shebang. The hair cut. The facial. The TWEEZING. (Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me there are hairs growing out of my chin?) I need a new wardrobe. Some makeup tips. I need a refresher course in what it is to be me. ME! Not just mom. MOM!
I can’t believe I am one of THEM now. That it happened so fast. Wasn’t I just pregnant and sick and watching daytime TV all day, judging the lame-o moms out there. On the TV. Swearing I’d never “get to that point.” And now? Three pregnancies later and no time for TV at all, I am one of them. Bedraggled. Tired. Falling apart. Looking nothing like that self of mine that so longed for this mothering gig in the first place. “That point” was a long time ago.
I have never had a facial. Or a mani-pedi. I have never been to a spa. I’ve never had my grey hair colored. I have not, since becoming a mom, gone on a shopping spree that doesn’t include diapers or Desitin or onesies or boys’ underwear.
What must I look like to my partner? Does he remember the days when we would walk together in Harvard Square? When we would go out at night, after 7:30? When I was called a leggy blonde by a friend’s wife? The way we laughed? Me being so much younger at the time. And now, now I am not young. And it shows. How did I let this happen? My middle is saggy. My glasses are always sliding down my nose. I am run down. I am oh so so so tired.
This is what motherhood has done to me. It has exhausted me. It has necessitated that I do the minimum to get by. The minimum for myself.
I realize that this is a repeating theme here. And I’m not talking about wanting plastic surgery, liposuction, new lips. (Actually, I’ve already had my lips done. More about that another time.) I’m not talking about a tummy tuck or a boob job. I’m talking about the time. The time for me. The time that would be ABOUT me. Time to look at myself in the mirror and like my reflection a little bit more. Time to just take time.
I used to think those makeover segments were full of exaggeration. And I’ve never spent time thinking about when I might next get my nails done or my hair colored. But right about now, if I got a call, if I got any kind of an offer for renewal, I would jump at the chance. Because it’s just another one of those examples of when Mommy is happy, the rest of the family is happy.
So, Kelly, give me a day at the spa. Make fun of my fatigue on national TV. Please. I know I need it. I’m ready to be it.
Read More in body image, Jen Writes, motherhood, three kids
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Oh sister my sister, you are still leggy. And you were never blonde anyway, so no worries about that. May I just casually suggest here a spa get away together? Fix up the hair and the nails and the attitude, slap on some new duds, and head back to the homestead with a refreshed perspective. I think that man and those kids or yours would be delighted to see the smile of a new you. I smell a Christmas present in the works here, or something….
Yes. Let’s find a deal somewhere. SOMEWHERE. Isn’t there a spa sponsoring a two-for-one sister special. We need to do this. I need perspective, fresh or otherwise.
I always wondered what happened to those made over ladies AFTER all was said and done? Some of them look so uncomfortable in their (new) own skin. They are afraid to smile, afraid to walk with pride because they seem to have lost all sense of self and with their new, glowing face, shiny, highlighted hair do’s and straightened/whitened teeth they don’t know who they are! But a new, practical haircut, new shade of lipstick, new pair of perfectly fitted jeans and a massage to take the tension away… oh yes, it’s worth it so find the time, hit the mall (even with the kids in tow), book the massage and the haircut – BE SELFISH and do it. You’ll be at least smiling in the mirror (even if you still have the bags under your eyes above the smile) if you do.
Good point, Becca. What does happen post makeover? I’m not afraid to find out. I am saving my pennies to make it a reality, even if I am the only one making the makeover decisions. (Every time I buy a “new” shade of lipstick it ends up being just a different brand–SAME COLOR.) Before year’s end I am going to get a hair cut, new lipstick, new jeans and, most important, a MASSAGE.
I too am in dire need of a mommy makeover. But really, it’d have to be a whole big makeover, including one with time management skill so that I’d be able to spend the time in the morning to look fabulous. And they’d have to come back every month so that I could get a refresher course, and keep up the maintenance on my hair ;)
You are on to something, Corinne. Some people have house-cleaners who come every few weeks, but, really, wouldn’t it be nice to hire the makeover upkeep crew? On the first of the month they could swoop in and take care of business. Hmmm…. I like it.
i used to feel very bad for those dumpy mommies, too. tsk, tsk, How Could They Let Themselves Go? I Would *Never* Allow That To Happen To Me. now i wonder how many of my friends pity the state i’m in. i get a shower every other day… or so. a ponytail is the only hairstyle i have. i don’t wear makeup. every single top i have is either stained with formula, food, barf, or food preparation cast-off. many of my shirts are holey where my belt rubs the edge of the countertop when i’m standing in the kitchen. yes, i am in the kitchen *that* much.
sign me up for the mommy makeover. lets go right to the tummy tuck. sure, i earned these stretch marks, and i’m proud to have them. it’s the kangaroo pouch that has to go.
what i really want? what i daydream about? is a massage. an hour long massage where the masseuse (masseur? whichever is the one that does NOT involve “happy endings”) works out the strings of knots that run through all of my back and shoulder muscles. soon, i will have an extra $60 and i am going to splurge!!! on me!!! for 45 minutes of pure heaven.
Dumpy. Yes. And NEVER ME. NO WAY. Yet, now I feel a sort of sisterhood with other dumpy mommies. And I wish we all could take over a massage parlor together. Just the chatting would be relaxing. Can you imagine!? GO. Get a massage. I will be there soon. I have to be. It’s really getting to be a matter of survival.
I can’t believe how bad I let myself get–it’s shameful! I actually avoid looking in the mirror because “I can’t handle the truth…”
And ugh, I have this ONE black chin hair that escapes my notice for weeks and then is suddenly, like, 1/4 of an inch long and I look like some Walt Disney Witch.
Do it. Getting my hair all chopped off seriously made for an all new attitude on me. I do my nails now and actually pay attention to my brows. OH! And I totally “splurged” and bought adorable frames this time around and I just feel better about me. I did it in small steps (cuz, hello budget!) but it does make a difference.
Someday I’m totally getting a mani-pedi. Someday…
Shouldn’t we all be wearing little pins that lets others know we are part of a special club? The DMC? Not so much because we enjoy being D(umpie) but that we are M(ommies) and we SHOULD be in a C(lub). And moreover that we recognize that while we may feel D, that we don’t relish it. We’d rather feel F! Which is to say Fabulous. Or whateverotherFwordyouchoosetomakeyouhappy.
DMC….sheesh….Run DMC’S! RUN to the nearest hair salon that charges more than $15 for a cut!(hee! This is funny in my head. Lord I hope it translates!!!)