A couple weeks ago I was getting Eva ready to do a quick run to the grocery store. Honestly quick. We were going to grab fixings for sandwiches for lunch that was it. Maybe a ten minute trip. I look at Eva and she was in her jammie jams from the last two or three or five nights, bed head, and a not so fresh diaper. I did what was the only logical option. Hyper focus on what Eva looked like and what she should be wearing. I pull out our downstairs clothes tote and pick out an adorable pink peplum shirt, jeggings, and I brush out her hair. She was cute for our quick trip to the store.

I mean, right? How cute is that? Then I realized that I needed to get ready. You’d think that I would then put in at least a tenth the effort I just put into my daughter. Well, my friends. You would be drastically incorrect. Or maybe you guessed where this blog was going and knew all along and now your just shaking your head, “Yes. I knew that”. I was wearing a lovely pair of sweatpants about four years old and on their third day of wear. A gaming t-shirt that I took from my husband because he originally ordered the wrong size (I don’t game and barely understand what the shirt means). I didn’t brush my hair but did redo the messy bun so it wasn’t falling down giving Eva easy access. More or less, a pretty common outfit to run to the store in.

I was putting Eva’s shoes on her and they were cute and strappy and fun. I put on my knock of Birkenstocks and realized, “I didn’t care about myself or what I looked like for even a second. That can’t be good.” I’m a stay at home mom so I don’t have to necessarily care what I look like when I walk out the door. And yes I know, you should never care what others think of you. You do you, blarg rawr blarg. The point is, when I worked full time I put more effort into what I was wearing and brushed my hair…almost every day…almost. Any who, this picture is more common to walk out the door than anything else. All you can think is, “I’m a mom. My raptor is my first and only priority. I have to get her ready to walk out the door.” You don’t even put yourself into that equation because let’s be honest, most moms don’t feel they deserve to be part of that equation.

Now, moms who work full time or part time or quarter time that have to put in effort into getting ready. Props to you. So many props to you. It amazes me that you can wake up get yourself ready and a child ready and head out the door into the world. That is not my world and sometimes that makes me a little sad. I love doing make up and getting ready. Before Eva I had a whole routine I would do when going out or meeting with people. I had an awesome vanity set up. I would blast my music and truly enjoy getting ready. Now I hurry through a shower, usually just a body splash cause who has time to do the hair? I run and grab something cleanish that doesn’t involve video game references (I steal a lot of Tim’s shirts) or childhood references. Usually jeans or leggings. I maybe do a five minute face and that’s dependent on the internal question, “Will there be pictures?” and then run out the door apologizing for taking too long.

I posted the above photos on a mommy group I’m a part of on Facebook explaining what I was feeling that day.  I even say that I dress that way because I already am gross so why does it matter? Which is such a sad statement and I would tear up if any of my friends said that to me about themselves. No one should ever feel like they aren’t worth putting on a clean shirt and brushing their hair. I got a whole spectrum of responses. Moms who understood and said that they also have these days or weeks or months or years. Moms who supported me and said that I was not in fact gross. Moms who thought that was a great outfit and I should be proud of myself getting out the door. That’s when it hit me. I sometimes feel like the invisible woman.

My daughter is beautiful and funny and interactive. She has big blue eyes and will stare into your soul when you first met her. Like with any other baby, she gets a lot of attention when we go out. Strangers will talk to her at the grocery store. Sometimes I’ve had people talk to her and not even acknowledge me. She’s a year old *side lean* a year old. She can’t really talk. She can’t hold a conversation. She can’t even tell you that she’s a one. So stop asking, she clearly cannot answer you, juststopit! These people will have full “conversations” with her or creepily play peek a boo and not even look at me. Or if they do it’s a quick glance to ask me her name or age or if she’s a girl. Every once and a while I will have someone have a full conversation with me but it’s about Eva and where she’s at developmentally. It honestly feels like sometimes I’m just the bow on top of the package.

I think moms know what’s coming in terms of their existence once the baby pops out. You are not a sole individual anymore. You are someone’s mom. You are the carrying case for a tiny human. You are there to serve as the mouth piece for an adorable blob gremlin that can’t speak for themselves. You are a spokesperson. Nothing more, nothing less. All day I sit with Eva and play with her. I try to teach her. We practice walking. We practice communicating. We eat and we love. Please don’t misunderstand, I love my life. I love being a stay at home mom. I love my daughter. 99% of the time she is my favorite subject to talk about. Sometimes though, I’d like to talk about other things. I want to reach beyond the realm of Beat Bugs and Maisy’s Big Flap book. I’d like to have a conversation with someone where I can get out a full sentence without being interrupted or cut off because they want to talk with my daughter who is one *side lean* one.

I know this may all sound like complaints and maybe it is but this is my life. From what I got in response to my Facebook post it’s a lot of moms’ lives. It’s so easy to fall into an invisible woman role because that’s what our role is now. Especially for stay at home moms because that is our entire life. 24/7, 365 days a year. Sometimes it’s nice to be invisible because when you have been awake since 3 am and have read I’m A Truck 75 times before 6 am you want to be invisible. You want to disappear a little while picking up bread, cheese, and ham. You need to not be there, but sometimes you know, it would just be really nice to visible to the world. Sweatpants and all.