So, this weekend, I went to a wedding. As per usual, these events make me feel a tad frumpy, a tad overweight (I still have 10 lbs of pregnancy weight that I have yet to shed) and a tad nervous that my toddler and baby will act out at inopportune times, which as Murphy's law would have it, they always do. To survive the day with hubby being a groomsman and all, I enlisted the help of my brother in law, a second hand me down ring sling and an 80$ nursing dress that I've worn for every wedding and fancy event this year as it's super comfortable and discreet for when I need to whip out my boob for my little one.
We survived well. Even if my body is a little lopsided from carrying my baby all night so that he wouldn't freak out from the loud music and MC'ing. Even if my toddler had a slight melt down during the ceremony because it was at nap time, I came prepared with trail mix to give her some added energy. Even if my baby decided right when the procession started down the aisle, that he would freak out and immediately need to nurse- it's all good, my dress let me nurse him discreetly out in the open in the front row.
We survived well. But. Truth is, the whole night I was self conscious. I was self conscious about my crazy hair that looked great upon leaving the house but after an outdoor ceremony, dealing with a tantrum-y toddler, a wailing baby and lugging-pushing a shitload of baby gear around, I gave up trying to maintain a neat updo. I was also self conscious about my nursing dress, bless Momzelle for their wonderful and practical designs but it didn't feel glam compared to the other ladies present that night. And paired with my hippy ring sling, my super hulk arms of steel (developed from caring for a baby that's in the 90th percentile in weight)- simply put, I was not feeling, even remotely, my most beautiful groomed self.
That night I came home feeling a little bad. Then I felt ashamed for feeling bad because these expectations that I have for myself are based on pure vanity and living up to Instagram standards that I know are not natural, not carefree and in fact, take a shit ton of work and time that I'd rather prioritize elsewhere. Yet still. I couldn't help it, I was disappointing my vain, superficial 20 something year old self from back in the day when I swore, I would never "let myself go".
Good thing I decided to confide in my husband. He brought me back down to earth with his pretty tart, pretty down to earth, no holding back - "who cares? there are more important things in life then perfect hair and nice dresses".
And he's fucking right. I fucking danced the night away carrying a 22 lbs baby and keeping eyeballs on my toddler. I'm fucking strong. I gracefully whipped out my breast in one swift move and satisfied my baby's hunger before you could even blink a fucking eye, before he could even muster another whine. BAM, like that. I'm fucking graceful. Yeh I'm still a little thicker then I'd like but my ass muscles are on point from all the damn squats I do picking up shit that my toddler drops while carrying my baby because he's needy these days. So on that note, at least I'm fucking healthy and physically able.
But the most important thing from that day is that my daughter saw me. I'm so thankful I trudged through the day and the night, even thought some moments, I just wanted to give up, go home and change into my sweats and call it a day. She saw me, yes, freak out at her for not listening to me but she ALSO saw me fill with joy watching our close friend marry a woman he loves, she saw me blow a kiss to her daddy while her baby brother was glued to my chest, she saw me swaying side to side all freaking night along side her on the dance floor with her baby brother in tow, crazy hair and all. She saw me, whether she knows it or not, she saw me not let my insecurities get the best of me. And that, that is gold. That is me being the best that I can be.
So I cannot have it all, I cannot be what my kids need me to be right now and have perfect hair and sport that perfect dress but my husband's right, it doesn't fucking matter. There are way more important things in life. Thank you husband. Thank you me.
No comments:
Post a Comment