Sometimes baby makes personal hygiene secondary. Last night, I put myself first.
I was playing in the sandbox with Harper yesterday when I caught sight of my legs. They were so hairy I looked like an ape. I tried desperately to pull my capri khakis down over them.
That’s when I noticed my toes. The princess pink toe nail polish was chipped off, and my toenails–well, let’s just say that they looked like fingernails.
Skeeved out? Yeah, well, so was I. There’s a point every week or so when I realize that I’ve fallen behind on my personal grooming. It’s what happens when you rush a shower everyday because your baby has tossed all of his toys out of his Pack n’ Play and is crying because he wants them back but can’t reach them. (Meanwhile, Harper got TWO baths today; lunch was extra messy, so I threw him in before his nap.)
It was my gym night tonight, but I skipped it. Instead, I ran a hot bath and soaked. I caught up on my shaving. I applied a mud mask. I conditioned my hair with a 10-minute treatment. I toweled off and lathered myself up with moisturizer. I picked at my face. I plucked my eyebrows. I flossed my teeth.
I even trimmed my toenails and painted them. What a luxury! Who knew that having time to pick at your face would ever feel like a treat?
Anyway, I feel squeaky clean as I sit here and write this. Reborn. Light. Shiny and new. If you need a pick-me-up, run a bath. It’s amazing what pampering yourself does for your state of mind.
Brooke Foster, who traded life in the city for a white picket fence in the suburbs, writes at Weewestchester.
