We all make sacrifices as parents. And without question, those sacrifices are completely worth it, 100%. But let’s face it, there’s a reason they’re called, “sacrifices.” Whatever “spending” money once existed now almost always goes to my little angels that grow as though they’re taking human growth hormone injections. This is an ode to those things I may never indulge in again:
- A fashionable, extensive wardrobe. Dear closet: remember when you were filled with basic pieces, cute dresses, snazzy skirts, and pants that could have made my derrière win an award? Me too. I miss those days, closet. Don’t get me wrong. Four shirts that reasonably cover the inevitable changes in my post-three-pregnancies body look good on you, too. But not nearly as good as the ridiculous indulgences I once filled you with, knowing that I’d probably only get one season of use from.
- Regular, overpriced, haircuts. I’m sorry hair. I know I neglect you. No really. I know I style you every time I go out, but let’s admit it: that’s half to cover the fact that I have rampant split ends from getting no more than two haircuts a year. And yes, you’re really just long strands of dead protein, but I heart you. You’re my favorite feature, and one of the few things that has been relatively unchanged since the arrival of my little, lovable, money-suckers.
- Manicures. Sure, unpolished nails, I could possibly find time to paint you at night after the kids go to bed, but in my exhausted state, I’d probably just be spreading nail polish over most of my fingers. And really, you’re beautiful when you’re shiny and fresh, no chips, no imperfections. But that only lasts until my first sink-full of dishes arrives, around 8 AM. So, manicures, we’ve parted ways. Because although you’re beautiful and stylish, I can’t be bothered doing that so my bed sheets can enjoy perfectly painted nails for a few hours. We had a good run.
- Two-piece bathing suits. I know, I know, I never wore a bikini a day in my life. But there was a time when a tankini was the beach weapon of choice. Adorable, modest, with just enough tummy showing to prove to the world that I had a tan, flat stomach. And although I miss our times together, I now must prove to the world that I can strategically hide my Casper-the-friendly-ghost white, not exactly flat, post-children stomach. Which brings me to my next topic.
- Sun bathing. Oh, those were good days. Laying on the beach, in the back yard, on a friend’s deck, wherever, just you and me, sun. Generously dousing my body in warming rays and skin darkening (albeit cancer causing) radiation. How I miss the times where I would lay there, doing nothing. Do you remember what that was like, sun? Doing nothing? I imagine it was wonderful. It’s been so, so long. Now, although we spend lots of time together in the spring and summer with the kids, I have to be all responsible and wear sunscreen, because along with the abandonment of my flat stomach arrived persistent little lines and wrinkles that I am determined to prevent. Sadly, I can only do that if I cut you off.
- Grabbing my purse and leaving. It’s true, purse. You may not remember it, but I do. Long, long ago, we could decide to run out for coffee, or a gallon of milk, or a little window shopping, and just go. Why? Because you were always ready. You never misplaced just one shoe. You never got all dressed, only to tell me in the driveway that you had to go potty. I never had to buckle you up, or pack you a snack, or make sure I had an extra purse in case you spilled something all over yourself. I’m thankful for you purse, because although those days are gone, you’ve adapted well. You don’t mind the sippie cup, wipes, diapers, board book, and bag of cheerios stretching you to your highest capacity. And I appreciate that.
- Having grown-up songs stuck in my head. Oh sure, I complained about it then. “If I hear that ‘Bananas’ song one more time, I’m going to scream.” But guess what? Even ridiculous songs using fruit as replacements for four letter expletives are better than the theme song to Dora. Or Caillou. What is it with children’s theme songs anyway? Is it impossible to sing at a normal level and pitch? Our only two options are screaming or whining? Oh bananas, I miss you.
- Low rise jeans. Trust me, jeans, I did this for your own good. You’re cute, beautiful even. You’re stylish and you deserve better. Better than having to support more weight than you were designed to hold. Better than being masked by love handles, spare tires, and other motherhood-related atrocities. Don’t worry, I’m not wearing mom jeans. But let’s face it, I need a little more material these days. Farewell my friend.