My birthday was a few weeks ago. Upon its approach, my husband asked me what I wanted for my birthday. Being that I've become very comfortable in my ordinary and budgeted life, I said, "I don't know. Nothing really. Maybe some more yoga or stretchy pants." He simply said, "No." "Why not? I use them more than anything," I said. He laughed and took me into my closet where he showed me my stack of black stretchy/yoga pants. "Because you don't need anymore." This was the pile he was referring to:
He caught me...black panted. (ha ha!) And do you want to hear a confession? I have more black yoga, stretchy, work out pants than you see here in this pile. I have loose fitting ones, tight ones, running ones, and bleach-stained ones. I love them. I'm convinced they make me a better mom. I where them all. the. time. And I don't feel bad about it.
There's a wave of intense pressure (mostly by the media and things like Pinterest) to be the best everything. The best mom with the cutest snacks and homemade Valentines and home cooked, organic, vegan meals. How to never lose your patience and always feel under control as a mom (yeah, right) and how to never go without a shower and how to do your makeup so it looks like you had a nose job and how to dress so that you feel good about yourself.
And you know what? It's bogus! Most of it, anyway. I'll admit I use Pinterest and other social media outlets to find encouragement from other moms, get ideas for dinner, and sometimes....sometimes...I even like to look at cute clothes. But I have no desire to wear these clothes throughout my typical week as a stay at home mom. You know why?
By breakfast, I've stepped in oatmeal and need a new pair of socks.
While at toddler gym, I started sweating because I forgot to put on deodorant or I didn't have time because Isaiah insists on putting his clothes on all by himself (which can take FOREVER).
By the time we leave, I've used my sleeve to wipe my kids noses more times than I can count because I forgot to bring a boogie wipe...again.
On the way home, I sat on a chocolate chip from my granola bar I ate for breakfast in the car on the way to toddler gym, and it melted all over my pants.
By lunch, I have peanut butter on my shoulder.
By nap time, I sat on the floor more than I've sat on any chair in the last week.
After nap time, Maci decided to spit out her spinach smoothie down the front of my shirt.
By dinner, I've got splatters of the meal here and there either from me cooking or the kids eating like savages (it's hard to be sure).
By bath time, I'm soaked because the kids like to splash. (And why not let them?)
By bed time, I'm covered, no, drenched in the day.
So, no. I don't want to dress "cute." I want to be comfortable! Because no matter what I wear, my life is messy. Young kids are messy. And I have no desire to keep it clean. I shower, my clothes are clean, I stay [fairly] fit and eat well, I may spruce up my hair and put on some make up, but unless it's date night, I don't do heels. I hardly even do jeans. I do me...the best more comfortable version of me in my black stretchy pants. Because while coffee grounds are being spilled on the floor and snotty noses are hugging my hair after a tumble, my kids don't care what I'm wearing nor should they.
My husband doesn't care either. When he gets home, you better believe he wrestles his way through two kids to wrap me in his arms, whether I'm wearing jeans, a dress, or my snot-smeared, peanut butter-smudged, comfortable, homey, black, stretchy pants. He wants to come home to his wife, no matter what I'm wearing. And if having one less worry, even if it is just my clothes, can make me a better wife, he'll take it and so will I.
My pants may be a joke. They may make me fashion-backwards. But my black, stretchy pants have been there on the good days and the hard days. They have comforted me in parenting trials and triumphs. I'm not giving them up, no matter how high my stack gets. And if you're like me, nor should you. :)