I’ve always loved this photograph. Ironically, this is how I imagined I’d dress most of the time once I grew up. I couldn’t wait to be like my mom and get fancy on Friday and Saturday nights to go out on the town. Earrings, makeup, perfume, pantyhose, high heels—these were the tangible symbols of womanhood I quietly coveted.
The amusing reality now that I have actually grown up is that I spend most days in workout gear, sweatpants, jeans, or jammies. Motherhood is lots of things, but glamorous isn’t one of them. I spend too much time feeling badly for not putting more effort into my appearance. Yet it hardly seems worth it when my days are filled with snot, mashed up cookies, spilled juice, dirty little hands and the occasional vomitus. I can’t play Duck, Duck, Goose in a dress, or even in a nice pair of slacks. Get Play Doh or watercolors on my nice Banana Republic blouse? No thank you! Comfortable and casual clothing is key.
Motherhood isn’t glamorous. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had. I keep waiting for it to get easier, but the joke is on me—because it never will.
Life would be much simpler if I could rewind to the dress-up days. I’d put on Mom’s party dress, heels and jewelry, prance around for a bit, and then take it all off, leaving it in a puddle on the floor, a dream for another day.