I'm Just An Un-Sexy Girl Living In A Sexy World
Every morning when I wake up, my day opens slowly. It starts with me getting up at least an hour before my children awake so that I have time for an energizing yoga practice, meditation, and journaling. Intentional time to myself brings me focus and peace.
BAHAHA. Just kidding. That was funny.
I usually wake up with my 4-year-old tapping my arm asking me when I’m finally going to get out of bed so he can have breakfast. I gaze over at the video monitor and see that my 1-year-old is standing up in his crib, trying to bite the camera. I’ve started to keep the sound off on the monitor because I realized that when the sound is on, I could hear him. Who wants that? Sheesh.
I stumble out of the bedroom with two children both wanting me to do too many things, too soon. Once I make coffee and get a handle on the morning, I always feel better. Inspired even. Coffee is magical.
It’s around this time, mid-morning, that I give my husband a call. He’s at work before we even wake up. The phone calls are always the same; “Hi, I love you, blah blah, have a good day.” Without fail, as I hang up the phone and turn around to look at the two little humans in front of me, I think “I really wish he was here.” All the chaos of the night before has already left me. I forget about the small, stupid shit that annoyed me. All the reasons why we bickered fade away (except for how terribly he washed the dishes. He needs to stop that, immediately). He’s my partner; I’m lucky to have him. I stop for a moment and think, “Yeah, I’m totally going to sex him up tonight.”
I think about how I’m going to have such a productive day. How the kids are going to be happy, polite, charming little princes. I take a quick look at some cookbooks and choose an appealing, nutritious and delicious recipe for supper. I start daydreaming about putting my happy kids to bed and making out with my husband like we are young. Hehehe. It’s going to be so fun! So sexy. I can’t wait to laugh with him tonight, while we are tangled up in bed. We haven’t had one of those nights in awhile, and we need it.
I finish drinking my coffee and simultaneously step on raspberries. Augh. My youngest loves throwing his food on the floor. After getting on my hands and knees to clean up breakfast, I start to get the kids dressed. Time is of the essence; we got shit to do. I’m having sex tonight.
1 hour later, I’ve finally wrangled both of my kids into clothes; then new clothes since one of them peed on his shorts and the other got toothpaste all over his shirt. Now the only disheveled person here is me. I glance in the mirror and try to figure out if I can get away with dry shampoo for the third day in a row. I figure as long as I do my eyebrows and possibly a little mascara, I should be fine. I smell my armpits and curse the day I decided antiperspirant had too many chemicals. I decide to just hurry up and get these bouncy kids out of the house. I’ll have time later to make myself look prettier before my sex date gets home from work.
We run around all morning, doing errands, seeing friends. I notice other women as I walk down a city street with my boys. They are wearing real pants! I catch my reflection in an office window and try to make my messy bun look intentional and pretty. I curse myself for not showering. I should really get some clothes that aren’t yoga clothes. I used to dress really cool before I had kids. Now a successful day in my fashion world is a pair of black Lululemon tights and my beloved Kit & Ace t-shirt that doesn’t have a stain on it.
By the time lunch comes and the baby is napping, I look over at my eldest and sheepishly hand him the iPad. I know it will keep him occupied while I clean the house and cook supper. That is after I take a super quick, little-tiny nap. I mean, not a nap, just resting my eyes. 15 minutes, max.
1 hour later, I’m on the couch eating chocolate chips with my son, trying to convince him to help me make supper. He’s grumpy from too much screen time and right when I’m about to help him practice his letters; little brother wakes up. I look at the clock: 2:30 PM. I have a couple hours to prepare supper, make myself not smell and look sexy. I got this.
The next few hours go something like this:
Feed baby a snack.
Change a shitty diaper.
Help bored child.
Start making supper.
Tell older brother to stop almost killing younger brother.
Make more snacks.
Check social media so I can feel less isolated/loser-ish.
Clean up a million Legos.
Feed kids supper.
Fight with kid about eating supper.
FaceTime my mom, so at least someone thinks my kids look cute.
Get on hands & knees and clean the floor.
Try and feed myself supper scraps while I bathe both disgusting children.
Try to explain to my child why you can only touch your own penis.
Answer the question “When is Daddy coming home?” about 4 million times.
Get both children in pajamas.
Try to do all the supper dishes, clean up toys and hide all the laundry.
Try to convince my child that now is not the time to practice Tae Kwon Do, on me.
Beg my child to stop practicing Tae Kwon Do on me.
Give up and lay on the floor in the fetal position.
My husband comes home to two kids who have been waiting 12 hours to see him. He sees me; covered in food, greasy hair, and dirty clothes. He glances around the house and notices the general chaos and the forgotten pasta sauce on the floor. He wonders; what did I do today?
I stare at him; dazed. What I want to say is, wait. Wait! We are supposed to be so sexy right now. Our children were meant to be calm and happy. I was supposed to put on actual clothes and have my hair up, falling in sexy little pieces around my face in an “I’m so cute while I work hard” kind of way.
I think about those women I saw earlier. The ones wearing real pants. I think about how they probably don’t eat supper at 4:45 pm. I think about how they probably have dinner dates, with wine, pretty lighting, and intelligent conversation. They most likely even ate at that hip new restaurant and Instagrammed the shit right out of it. So now, not only are they clean and pretty but; everyone else knows it. I bet you those bitches had sexy for breakfast.
I watch my husband disappear behind a pile of Lego and I know I won’t see him for a couple hours until our eldest falls asleep. Then we will sit side by side on the couch while we (cough, he) folds the laundry I stashed away. We will both, tiredly, try and connect. Our night will end with me searching for my leg warmers so that I can fall asleep without the sharp hairs on my legs reminding me of how much I’ve given up. We will lay in bed, side-by-side, reading. He'll make me laugh and I'll feel exhaustedly content. I'll probably think about being sexy, but instead, I'll throw a half limp arm over his way, offering a back rub. He's already snorring. It's official; I'm the un-sexiest.