Over the weekend, my friends and I decided to gear up for an evening on the
town. Tween Girl Supreme is gone for the duration of her summer break, spending
time in Brooklyn and Miami with her father’s side of the family. So I’m left to
try to remember what it is I used to do when I was, for that brief period of
life, childless and fancy-free. I go through this every time she goes away —
maybe twice a year — but my homies had a plan to get me out of the house.
I’m 99 percent sure our crazy selves would’ve made the most of the night
even if the lounge alone wasn’t hitting on much. That’s just how we are. The
process of getting ready is the deterrent. Trying on outfits, turning every
which way to analyze body parts at different angles, trying to achieve some
semblance of seductiveness? That’s the part of the going-out routine I hate.
It makes me wonder: has motherhood made me unsexy?
That, of course, implies that I was ever sexy in the first place.
It’s certainly not a question every woman grapples with. I see mamas who
ooze natural come hither-ness and they’ve got a gaggle of kids in their cart at
the grocery store or a minivan full when they pull up to dance practice. I slap
those ladies a mental high five and give them kudos for stirring up their inner
hotness. But, more often than that, I spot moms who have clearly given up on any
attempts to be even remotely stylish, let alone sexy.
We all have days
where it’s all we can do to brush our teeth and whisk our hair up in a ponytail.
Maybe the gal in question is out on an errand-running mission. Maybe she has the
flu. Maybe she’s got a few hours to herself before her children come home and
she’ll be darned if she wastes precious moments primping and fluffing in front
of the mirror. Those are all relatable excuses.
But then there are the
chicks who seem to be hellbent on breaking the unwritten Guinness Book
record for longest streak in sweatpants and Crocs. The closest things
to beauty products that have touched their faces are Chapstick and Dove, and
everything in their wardrobes screams functionality over femininity. I see them
in Wal-mart and Target all the time.
Every once in a while, especially
when it’s cold outside, I’m in full freelance-writer-on-deadline,
bare-minimum-maintenance mode and I have zero incentive to even lift a wand of
mascara, I’ll find myself becoming that mom. Sweatpants are addictive,
I don’t care what anybody says. So after two or three days in them —
interspersed with a few wears of leggings, which are my other go-to fave — I
have to forcibly peel myself out of them or risk being sucked into that abyss of
I might not be the hottest mom on the PTA
committee (and I’m not, thanks to a cleavage-flashing lady who seems to be the
one to always collect funds at every event), but I think I balance the hectic
responsibilities of motherhood with a fairly stylish and sustained look.
My thing is learning how to tap into my sexiness. It’s there (I think).
I just have to know how to work it.
The Man is trying to
convince me that I have it going on naturally. It’s what attracted him to me, he
insists, even across the miles through my Facebook pics. He admits to stalking
my photos and he must not be lying, because he can rattle off a list of his
favorite outfits and poses in pictures even I forgot that I took and posted. I’m
glad that something drew him in, of course. I just wish I could tap into it
myself when I’m getting ready to hit the town with the girls.
weekend, we’re giving it another go. I’ll spend oodles of time in front of the
mirror, I’m sure, trying to work up my inner sexy. If I keep this up from now
until the time my child gets home at the end of the month, I may actually find
it. Do you feel more or less sexy since you had your kids?