When you’re a mom, you come last. Dead last. Eating meals. Showering. Getting dressed. Going to the bathroom. Everything.
Every. Single. Thing. Dead. Last.
So you adjust. You learn to deal with it. You move quickly, accept that you'll barely have time to put on your shoes, let alone mascara.
So, you deal.
I had a morning like that not too long ago. It was a crazy morning, but there was no time to worry about it. We had a birthday lunch for a family member at noon and had to leave the house by 11:30 a.m. Didn't seem unreasonable when we made the plans. But, as is often the case, time was not on my side.
My kids decided to sleep in. They NEVER sleep in. Isn't that always the case. I never thought for a second to set my alarm. I mean, why would I? The kids are always up by 8; usually closer to 7 a.m.
So, like most times when we have an actual place to be – it was hectic. I gave the girls breakfast, a bath and lots of hugs and kisses. There's always time for hugs and kisses. Then, picked out cute dresses. Found a cute headband for Emma, and the perfect little clip for Ella’s hair. Got their cute shoes.
I must say – they looked adorable. My goodness. Impeccable.
And it was 11:15 a.m.
I put Ella in her playpen, and hopped in the shower. Yes, she's 2 and a half and still spends a bit of time in her play pen. Or as I call it, my sanity pen. She actually likes it in there, so hold the emails.
I hopped out of the three-minute shower.
I put on the first sun dress I found. I didn't realize at the time that it could have used a bit of ironing.
I threw my hair in a bun. Again. My poor hair. Time was flying. I grabbed my purse, threw a sippy cup and a few other necessities inside, got the babies, and we were off.
I’m always so happy when my girls look so adorable. I just wonder what people think about me. No makeup. (A tiny bit of lip gloss) Hair bunned. Sundress a bit wrinkled. Exhausted.
But happy to be out and about. Celebrating.
Happy to see my husband mid-day, who met us there from work. Happy that he managed to save my day by telling me that I look pretty. I knew I didn’t. But still, I needed that. I think he knew it. Like she’s-a-mess-and-needs-a-pick-me-up kinda thing.
I wonder if he spotted the wrinkles in my dress. Or on my face. If he’d noticed the lack of jewelry and makeup.
I wonder if he felt bad. Or if he thinks less is more and didn’t care about that stuff. Whatever the reason, it was lovely. Unlike my bun. And my wrinkled dress.
I know better than to beat myself up. I work hard. As a writer. As a mom. As a wife. As a housekeeper. A cook. A landscaper. I work hard. Like most moms and dads out there. I can't speak for dads, but I know too many moms who constantly beat themselves up. We are always crazed and focused on our sweet children. That's not a bad thing, it's really not. They’re what matters, yes.
But we can't forget one important thing - we matter, too.