I’m wearing flip flops. And they aren’t wedges, sparkly, or from Banana Republic.
Have you set your coffee cup down? Do you, in the words of the great Mike Myers on SNL, need to “Tawlk amongst yaselves”? Probably not yet, you don’t. But now, I’m going to say something that might prompt you to.
I’m also wearing yoga pants.
Now, you may be thinking that I’m sitting in front of my home computer, which is absolutely true. Earlier, though, I wore them through Target. I wore them through Target with my hair in a ponytail. Not even a cute holder for the ponytail, just a plain elastic band. Which, to be honest, is kind of unfair, because I have really good hair.
And I’m sick of it.
I love being able to do things with my hair. I can curl, straighten, and blow dry with a round brush to my hearts content. However, the only person here to see it is Scoob, and it’s just as easy for him to put American cheese slices into my uncoiffed hair. So I just don’t. The want for the Early Thirties Mom-Bob is creeping its way into my ponytail covered, unhighlighted dome and scaring the heck out of me.
It’s not just the hair, people. Although I have begun to revere yoga in an unhealthy way, count calories until my eyes cross, and am taking diet pills, I just can’t seem to get the change I ache for.
Although I’ve been assured that wanting some serious image change is all part of the early motherhood-life crisis, I can’t help but feel a bit…well, off about it. I’m sitting in a chair at my own pity party, and it’s a bit depressing. I know. You can stop reading if you want, and I will completely understand. It’s just that, well, I feel like a frump, and I don’t know how to break the mom jeans, ponytail head, flip floppy cycle from hell.
How do others break the stay at home mom ho hums? Anyone?