Getting Ready.

When I worked 3rd shift all last year, I got up a little early and took my time getting ready for work. I smoothed my hair into a tight, perfect bun. I brushed on a tiny bit of make up, usually just some light eyeshadow and mascara and some Burt's Bees chapstick. I smoothed out my uniform and made sure all the stray cat and dog hairs were gone and that my boots were nice and shiny.

When I got pregnant, I felt almost crippled by the constant morning sickness. I didn't have the energy to get up a few minutes earlier. I didn't have the energy to fiddle with my hair long enough to make a perfect bun. I didn't even give makeup a passing thought. Even now, after the sickness has mostly gone away, I have resigned to just throwing on a clean uniform, brushing my teeth, and twisting my hair into some form of submission. I look like a zombie most mornings, but I don't even care.

Sunday was a gorgeous afternoon, and Bryan wanted to take me out to a picnic for lunch. For the first time in a while, I took some time on my hair. And I put on makeup for the first time in...well...I don't even know how long. It felt nice to take some time on myself. It felt nice to feel the kind of pretty that comes from a little something extra. (Or that comes from wearing something other than old football sweats and yoga pants. Either way.)

The cat likes to sit in the bathroom whenever I'm in there getting ready. (She also likes to climb in the shower, but that's a completely different story...) She was sitting on the counter, calmly and intently watching my every move. I watched her watching me, and it reminded me of all those times growing up that I sat watching my mom get ready for a big day. Sitting on the end of the bed watching her magically turn her straight hair into big curls. Watching her carefully line her eyes and brush her lashes with mascara and spritz her perfume on just the right spots.

It was mesmerizing. I wasn't even big enough to reach the stuff, much less be able to fix myself up like that. When she was almost done, she would always let one of us help her with her jewelry. It seems silly now, but something as simple as standing on the bed to fasten the clasp on her necklace was a huge deal. I couldn't wait to grow up and be able to do such amazing things as her.

I could see myself sitting on her bed with those huge eyes and that shy smile. There was so much love and admiration in those eyes. The cat was staring at me with those same huge eyes. It was almost enough to break me. It got me wondering how different life would be if things had turned out differently, if my babies had never died. Would I be watching them staring up at me instead? Would I be a good mom? Would they have that sense of amazement that I had with my parents? Would we read books and play dress up and have dance parties and watch cartoons while we eat our breakfast? The more I wondered, the more I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear.


Despite the emotional morning, the rest of the day turned out pretty great. I think we need to do picnics at the beach more often.

Bryan got a couple pictures while we were walking around after eating. He teases me about how highly (and easily) amused I am by my belly button. Especially when it randomly sticks out in pictures, like this one.

We hit 23 weeks today. I'm still a nervous wreck, but we're getting there. One day at a time.


Oh, and for the record, no matter how many times I watched my mom do her makeup, I still couldn't do my own without stabbing myself in the eye until well after my senior year in high school. And even now I can't curl or flat iron my hair without burning myself.