I’ve never been one to spend too much time on my outward appearance; it’s never been something I’ve placed too much importance on. I’ve never worn heavy makeup and rarely used much more than one hair-tie and a few bobby pins to ‘style’ my hair. I can’t stand having my fingernails long or painted, and I’ve never had a pedicure. Before having kids though it was definitely easier to spend an extra fifteen minutes covering a blemish; or to make a last minute appointment for a three hour cut and colour, or a sneaky wax. And now, with two kids to juggle; I look back on my pre-children self, and I was basically a GODDESS of Personal Maintenance.
These days I’m lucky to wash my hair once a week. Instead I am a dedicated dry shampooer. My hair styles are a combination of 98% mum-bun, 2% Elsa plait. My hair is quite long, so the whole washing/brushing/drying routine can take some time; if I can get away with the same hairstyle two days in a row, I’ll chalk that up as a win.
My entire going-to-be-seen-in-public routine (consisting of getting dressed + hair + makeup), takes no more than ten minutes (I can shave off an extra five minutes if Mr Junebug is driving, as I’ll apply my makeup in the car). I have a wardrobe FULL of clothes, but my outfit will always be one of the same three ensembles. I know that those three trusty outfits actually fit me, and are suitable for breastfeeding. The rest of my wardrobe – I’m yet to have a chance to establish it’s suitability; I’ll get around to that when my kids start school.
When I shower, I’m either on my way to bed; or hurrying because I’m sure I just heard M cry.. I wash the important bits; stand aimlessly under the hot stream (if time permits), and then get out. The thought of shaving legs or pits, rarely even crosses my mind. My only saving grace has been winter – long pants and jumpers. Otherwise, I swear you’d think I burnt my bra in the 60’s.
I don’t bend down unnecessarily these days; so it’s not very often I find myself looking at my toes. Which is a shame, because I am rocking a wicked set of talons.
If anyone were to peer into my ears, they’d find long sandy beaches; I can’t remember the last time I had a moment to myself to scratch my arse, let alone bore those suckers out.
I might pluck a stray eyebrow hair or two, every now and then; but these eyebrows are barely fit for public consumption, let alone ‘on point.’
And don’t even get me started on the lady fuzz. If pubes were children, mine would be in protective custody due to their neglect. A fact which I was already well aware of BEFORE my helpful 3yo suggested I take my fanny “to the hairdresser.”
I’m just not sure how some mums do it. If you’re a well groomed mum and you catch me staring at you in the supermarket; I promise I’m not judging your outward appearance; I’m simply trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong and how the hell I can achieve a similar look in my ten minute window.
Just to be on the safe side, it might be best if no one stands too close for a while. Or only looks at me through Instagram filters until I get things back under control..
But hey, my children are clean (most of the time); they’re happy, healthy and fed. Mr Junebug, like me, is too sleep deprived to notice the dishevel-level I’ve got going on. And I’m too busy and in love with life to be anything but comfortable in my own (albeit hairy) skin.
And I WILL get myself sorted out by the time summer rolls around. I WILL.
Or maybe; maxi skirt.