Back when I was a single girl, toiling away on Bay Street all day and trolling the bars all night, I wondered what happened to those poor suckers who had to run out the door to catch the train to the suburbs, so they could pick up their kids on time. Were they ever 'cool' like me? I looked at their skirts-with-running-shoes ensembles with derision, and kicked up my (very high) heels with a giggle, swearing that the parent fashion trap would never happen to me.
This is the part where we fast forward a few years. You saw that coming, didn’t you? Today, as I made my way into a meeting room, I noticed that I forgot to change out of my commuter running shoes when I got to the office . . . four hours earlier. But that wasn’t the worst fashion crime that I noticed when it was far too late to do anything about it—there was also a peanut butter stain, about the size of a three-year-old’s hand, just below my ass. Sexy AND professional!
As I quickly detoured to the bathroom to clean myself up, I caught a glimpse of someone, who kind of looked like me, in the mirror. What the hell happened to me? I won’t blame the grey hair on parenthood, but I will blame the three-inch roots that make the grey noticeable on the lack of free time that comes with managing a family. And those dark circles! Good Lord, woman. Get thee some under eye concealer! Oh wait, I have some. I just don’t have time to apply it, between gulps of coffee and chomps of toast, before running out the door in the morning.
The waistband of my jeans is still firmly below the navel, so I have sidestepped the mom jeans land mine, but I have noticed that ALL of my clothes are wash and wear. It’s mostly because I hate ironing—with a passion that burns with the fire of a thousand suns—and the remnants of my pre-kid wardrobe have ended up in the back of the closet, because I never have time to drag out the ironing board, anyway.
The transformation is complete. I look like somebody’s mother. I’m sorry, fashion, I have forsaken you. Maybe someday I'll find my way out of ponytails and sensible shoes, but for now, I have to take my kid to the park. I’m going to have way more fun there than I ever did in my (very high) heels in the bright lights of the big city. And THAT is what happened to those suckers who had to run to catch the train to pick up their kids on time.
Printer-friendly version