It's Happened

Have you ever seen one of those Mommy Makeover talk shows? I'm sure you know the story. Mom has three kids and a loving husband, but she hasn't worked outside of the house in nearly a decade. She volunteers and is loved by many. The rock in her family. And no matter how hard she tries, she just can't look as good as she used to.

Gasp, you think, when you see her frumpy jeans from so many seasons ago, the look has surely been forgotten. Her shirt is oversized, a little stained and one of three in the steady rotation. She wears sneakers and can't really imagine an outfit they don't go with. Her hair has long ago shed its cheery highlights and her cut looks military-grade: sufficient with zero style. We won't even discuss all of the grooming, trimming, shaving and toning that simply does not happen.

I've watched plenty of these shows. And until recently, I always thought, "How does someone let it get that far?"

Gasp again. I've come down with yo-mamma's-so-outta-style-the-PTA-is-making-fun-of-her syndrome.

Here's how I came to my self-diagnosis:

• I wear only jeans, sweats or shorts and pretty much none of them fit properly.
  
• When I wear shoes, the choice is easy: If it's sunny and warm I go with the flip flop. If it's cold and cloudy it's the sneaker.
  
• I think it is perfectly acceptable to use the eyelash curler while driving down the interstate. And then I realize it's absurd because I'm just going to the grocery store.
  
• I do not carry a purse, just a bag that looks like a Pottery Barn Catalog nursery picture threw up on a tote. In keeping with the theme, I stuff it full of diapers, wipes, toys, sippy cups and binkies.
  
• I shave my legs only after severe harassment from my husband and even then I do such a miserable job he still makes fun of me.
  
• My last highlight job has a good several inches of grow out, and I may soon have to stop calling myself a blonde. My cut could be cute, I suppose, if I took the time to style it.
  

How does this happen so quickly?

The rocky road begins in pregnancy when you naturally give up any hope of looking good or wearing clothes that fit. Gaining an extra 20 to 30 pounds in the girth never did anyone any fashion favors. Not to mention the additional weight that gets added to the face, fingers and ankles. And then once you've had a baby, you end up looking like a half-deflated bounce house whose clothes, once again, don't fit. Then you have the excuse of a newborn who keeps you up all night. But a few months later, and you begin to think, "If Britney Spears did it, I can, too." Well, hell, my kid is now 1, but still don't have it together, folks.

I'm not so worried about what I'll wear tomorrow as what it means for my future. This must be how women get stuck in a certain decade. My girlfriends and I determined that the hairstyle you have in your 30s is probably the one that will stick with you for the rest of your life. What if that spreads to other areas of style? Is this how we wind up with jeans so old that our great-grandchildren will beg for them because they're exactly like what's selling at the vintage shops?

As a kid growing up I remember a few shirts and sweaters in my parents' closets that they just never did get rid of. My grandfather wears Levis in that faint blue color that is only achieved through decades of washing. And my grandmother still has dresses hanging in her closet that look like they were stolen from the costume department of Mad Men.

I hope like hell that the jeans I'm wearing right now have a different home 20 years from now. And please, oh please, give me another shot a my rest-of-your-life hairdo. Next time you see me, save it. Don't tell me I look good or ask where I get my hair cut just to be nice. Your energy would be better spent inviting me to shopping, bringing over the waxing kit or booking me a hair appointment.

And even if the offer comes with free clothes, a professional stylist and a trip to Chicago to sit on Oprah's lap, do not sign me up for a makeover show. It's bad enough I walk around my own neighborhood like this. It would just be mean to subject a nationwide audience to it. Besides, I bet if they look out their own window, they'd see a few moms just like me pushing strollers down their streets.