Frumpiness among the beautiful people
I'm not a clothes horse. I never have been. I always stole my older sister's clothes in high school, because her clothes were cool, and mine weren't. (She didn't appreciate that, by the way.) In college, everybody looked frumpy in sweats all the time anyway, so I fit right in. But by the time I got to graduate school and a profession, I had finally shedded the sweats look, got some classic pieces in my wardrobe, and felt like usually, I looked pretty good. Somebody even remarked at work once, "Speech Pathologists are always the best dressed therapists." It took me a second to realize that she was including me in her statement, but it confirmed what I had secretly hoped and suspected: I was no longer frumpy. Well, all I can say now is, Welcome to Frumpville. Population: me. Is it motherhood? Is that my problem? What is it about motherhood that makes one turn into Frump Girl? Am I the only one who looks at pictures of me before kids and thinks, "Wow, good thing DH met me back then!" Usually, I actually don't think that much about how I look, (frankly, I hang out with 3 year olds and their moms most of the time, and the moms are just as covered in bodily goo as I am) but the other night, my frumpiness was called sharply into focus. I went to a fancy shmancy work event with DH and my parents, and the song "One of these things is not like the other" went through my head all night as I was introduced to some big wigs. I was suddenly acutely aware of my unpainted toenails, my oft-bitten fingernails, my seriously unhip hairstyle that comes out of a ponytail pretty much only on Sundays, and my choice of attire that did not seem to match the other womens'. Do other mother's feel like this? Am I the only one that can deal with 2 three year olds fighting over a stick in the middle of a forest with ease, but feels uncomfortable in a room where people are wearing something besides what was at the top of the laundry pile? For right now, I guess it's not that big of a deal. Like I said, most of my associations are with other moms and little kids, neither of whom give a flying flip about what I have on. But I'm worried--will I ever be able to remember what it's like to put on something hip? Am I going to be stuck in Frumpville forever? Hey, what a great excuse to head to the mall. Shopping, anyone?