Hit the Showers

I was a newly minted Mom on a mission.

I wore my nursing tank with pride, making sure it was visible everywhere. I wanted it to silent scream the way kids do when they find out you ate the last of the cereal-

Can’t stay out long, ha ha ha. Got to get home to feed the baby. MY baby. Who I just had. A few weeks ago now. Who I am breastfeeding on demand like every good Mother should. Ha ha ha.

I was desperate to be recognized as the one who knew what she was doing. The super Mama. The one who buys organic toilet paper.

I went for months without putting that precious bundle of colicky crazy down.

To say I had roots would make my hairdresser cry full-on laughing tears.

I looked like an aging Harley Quinn.

I was proud of the sweatpants I wasn’t sure when I changed out of last. Proud of the faded mascara circles. Proud of the fact that I couldn’t recall the last time I had shaved, well, anything, but it sure as hell was 1970 everywhere below the equator and I was confident not even Walker Texas Ranger could find his way out of there.

I was proud of losing myself because I was convinced that it made me a good Mother.

A good Mother sacrifices everything for her child, even a fucking shower.

I mean, that’s what I thought.

Wasn’t that the message everyone was sending?

With all of their Instagrammed school drop-offs in pajamas; their cutesy tee-shirts with clever phrases like, “Tired as a Mother”. This was the expectation, right? To lose everything about who you are when you gain a little earthling milk sucker?

I bought it, right up until my second kid showed up five years later.

The thing is, I really was the best Mom to my firstborn. Better than I could have ever imagined I could have been. But the best Jenny? I had no idea who she was.

When I came home from the hospital the second (and last) time, I pulled every article of clothing I loved out and laid them on the bed. I arranged my favorite perfume, lined my nightstand with my favorite books, padded my drawers with secret stashes of my favorite chocolate- my pantry with my go-to wine. I made lists of things that made me feel like me: a glass of rose in Spring, a striped tee, cookbooks from worldly cuisines, Joe Purdy albums, nude nail polish, Mary Oliver poetry and red lipstick.

And before my husband left for work, I made sure I took a shower every damn morning. With soap and shampoo and sometimes I even shaved because I wasn’t going to forget this time that I was worth feeling like me- and, also, not offending anyone on the subway.