Before I had Mac, I felt pretty much bullet proof.
I had a great Husband. A nice house in the right location full of nice things. A respectable social calendar. A few cats and dogs to lavish praise and love upon. I had my education. I had my designer handbags. . .and shoes. . .and I had a career.
It was all I ever wanted.
I was living the dream.
Then I decided to get knocked up.
And suddenly, nothing mattered but the adorable little parasite.
So I gave up the disposable income, a 401k, the shoes and purses, the “career.”
I didn’t miss any of it. Still don’t.
As the adorable parasite got a little bigger, I realized he was exacting a toll on all the nice things in our home. So I started hiding them, or giving them away, or slipcovering them.
Adorable parasite was also taking away time for things like nail painting or even teeth flossing.
But I didn’t care.
I shouldn’t be keeping all that acetone nail polish remover in the house anyway. What if he ingested it somehow?
I get awake every morning and put on nearly the same outfit. I drag around backpacks instead of high-end purses. I cleaned out my closets. I sent mountains of clothes to Goodwill. . .really, really good clothes.
None of it matters. I have what I need.
I scrub floors. I paint furniture. I sing silly songs. Dance silly dances. Help assemble huge block towers. Fold mountains of laundry. Agonize over every meal and grocery list.
Then one evening, while I was on hands and knees on the kitchen floor, wiping up all the food Mac had rejected, while he and his Father sat in their seats above me laughing together, I realized with great sadness: I had become invisible.
Somehow, I had become this unshowered, poorly groomed, horribly dressed troll who serves scant little purpose but to clean up discarded food, and excrement, to pack lunches and make beds, to vacuum and mop. . .
Is it possible that it took only 21 months for me to go from invincible to invisible?
Yes. . .That fast.
It’s true I cringe at the idea of putting on pants that have a proper waistband. Mascara? Flat iron? Tinted moisturizer? GAH!!!!
I haven’t had a pair of heels or a dress on since my sister’s baby shower. . .in November. I haven’t used any sort of purse/clutch, designer or otherwise for at least a year.
I’ve been wearing the same bra for at least 58 days straight.
My lingerie selection consists of Spanx, maternity bikini briefs, one chemise, and 3 pair of NIck and Nora flannel PJs.
I wear ball caps, and bandanas, and flip flops. I tell myself I could put on better clothes. I stare at my closet full of “better” clothes. . .
And I dream. . .
Of my toddler, rubbing his toothpaste covered mouth all over my fucking cashmere sweater and camel hair blazer.
Yet, In the wee hours of the morning when I’m either going to bed or getting awake, donning a ratty old T shirt and yoga pants, laughing and crying at my wholly amazing life, I am so very, very thankful.
I am after all, in that moment, still invincible. . .
And sometimes, if the light is right, I am invisible. . .
Which makes me nothing less than a Super-hero!
Who will also clean up your dinner. . .