I'm not what you would call "girly". I would consider my style to be more practical. Which means that on Charlie days I wear one of the two pairs of maternity shorts I have that fit (thank GOODNESS the old ones are too big. I'm kind of appalled that they ever fit to begin with) and, if I'm feeling pretty, a shirt with no words on it. And recently, because I haven't had a haircut since 2007, a ponytail. I know. It's time to suck it up and give someone $45 to rub my head, offer me tea, wash my hair, and make polite chit chat with me for an hour. The sacrifices we must make to look nice.
It's not that I don't care what I look like. I just lack the energy and skills to acheive that coveted "put together" look everyone else seems to find so simple. Especially when Ryan is on a business trip and I am home alone with Charlie.
It was with this mix of apathy and jealousy that I took Charlie to the neighborhood pool on Tuesday. The part of the neighborhood where the pool is located is a completely different world from where I live. The houses are grander, the cars more exotic, and the women look like freaking JCrew models.
Wisteria Lane? Think people with families only look like that on TV? You're WRONG. If I was going to go watch Charlie's swim practice, I would probably throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and carry my keys, phone, and a small cooler full of Capri Suns and pretzels. What I would NOT do is dress like I was expecting to appear on the cover of Conde Nast Traveler.
So Tuesday, there I was, sitting by the baby pool (fully clothed in a pair of khaki maternity shorts and a blue Old Navy polo shirt because baby pool! Foot and a half deep! No need for me to expose my strangely shaped early pregnancy body to the whole world! Yay baby pool!), pale, stubbly legs crossed at the ankle in the water, when in walked two of the most effortlessly beautiful women I have ever seen. Both of them with perfect highlighted hair held back by perfect designer sunglasses, tan and confident in their BIKINIS despite the fact that the adorable four month old baby they had with them clearly belonged to one of them (I wonder if she saw my head explode when I contemplated what I looked like four months post-partum).
My inner monologue shifted into snark mode, but then Charlie did something cute and one of them laughed and smiled warmly in my direction.
Then I felt frumpy and mean. And I also suddenly wanted to go work out and then have my hair highlighted.