I remember waddling through the aisles of HomeGoods, rubbing my 8-month pregnant belly, when I rounded the corner and nearly smashed into a mom with her two children. She was probably already at her max mental capacity, but the encounter with me nearly did her in. As we were profusely apologizing to each other for our near collision when I got a better look at her.
Her messy bun was an extra mess, there wasn't a stitch of makeup on her face, and her one sweat pant leg was unconsciously tucked into her scuffed Ugg boots. We quickly decided that neither of us was to actually blame. She glanced down at my protruding belly and offered a "good luck!" capped off with a heavy sigh. I looked at her two excited little ones and smiled; "you too," I offered.
My run-in with this mom unknowingly gave me a glimpse into my immediate future, only I didn't know it at the time
And honestly, it's not one I ever imagined for myself. While I truly couldn't care how others dress, being underdressed in public was never my jam. Throughout my pregnancy, I swore that if I wasn't going to be one of those moms. The ones with messy buns and no makeup and disheveled sweats. I expected my time to do a passable eyeliner check and a cute outfit would be limited, but I never anticipated I would lose the capacity to give a rat's arse about doing any of it.
As a fat woman, I really didn't have "permission" to have the whole IDGAF attitude.
Sure, no one held a weapon to my throat and demanded I look my best at all times. But for a long time I was convinced that if I slacked off on my aesthetics, people who assume what they do of all fat people: that we are simply homely, slovenly, and lazy. It's a genuine bias that exists for big women, and as I knew I wasn't magically shrinking anytime soon, I imagined I'd continue my manicured looks well into actual motherhood.
The moment I became a mother, my worries about my physical image began melting away.
As I laid in my hospital bed hours after giving birth, my best friend walked in smiling from ear to ear and told me I looked "Kate Middleton" good (I know, she's an angel). The kicker? I hadn't even showered yet. My family arrived and saw, likely for the first-ish time, me sitting there without makeup or my hair done (or even brushed). And something incredible happened. The world continued to keep spinning.
Over the years as my son continues to grow, I find myself caring less and less.
The number of times I'd thrown on whatever without a swatch of makeup on in these past two years is actually far too many to count. It no longer matters. Not because I'm so "selfless" I just put him first in every aspect, but because my outlook on myself and my bodily presentation has changed.
If my son and I are taking a quick trip to the store, or going to a jaunt in the park, what do I genuinely care what anyone thinks of how I look? I'm there to experience life with him, not to make myself more palatable for everyone else.
The best part? When I do get dressed up, I do it for me.
I do it because I want to look cute, or because I want to give myself a little confidence boost. I don't do it to give anyone else any source of comfort. And the freedom I feel is indescribable.
So you know what? HELL YES I am a "mom slob," and dang proud of it. There is a lot of constraint in motherhood, but there's also a lot of beautiful freedom and I'm here for all of it.
