I was THAT mom/woman last night.
I was the disheveled-looking woman, overly pregnant, in slightly rumpled clothes, moderately messy hair (this heat makes my hair do funny things and I didn't bother to heat up the straightening element just to go to Target), no make-up (the small amount I put on that morning had sweated off by then) with the kid whose hair was even messier than mine (she has unruly curls that are beautiful, but she took a nap on it and then yanked her hair clip out in the car) who was screaming, at the top of her lungs that she didn't want to get in the cart/wanted to get out of the cart in the entrance of Target. When the temper tantrum didn't subside, despite some discipline and threats of more, I compromised with her (which I HATE to do because then she just tries it again next time) and then I was the woman with the whiny kid all through Target, moving along, trying to do my shopping, just trying to get out of there with my needed items (I've been putting it off all week and was completely out of several necessary items.)
I've always wondered at the women who come out in public looking so run down and messy. I've wondered through the years, in different situations what made them stop caring about how they looked in public, or why their kid was being such a pill. I know that sometimes, things happen and I try not to judge, but I have wondered what brought them to that place. Was it that they really didn't care? Was it just a really bad day? Was this the norm for them or was this a rare situation that just happened to play out in front of me?
Immediately prior to leaving for the store, I had discovered that Fuss had destroyed my deodorant and ground it into my brand new couch. I discovered this after she wiped remnants of it on my shirt, or course, but didn't bother to change clothes. I then walked out of the house, locking the door behind me as always, without my keys. (Thankfully, my dad had left the back door unlocked, so I didn't have to do anything drastic to get back in.) An hour or so before that, my dogs ran away and my dad had to chase them down, wearing himself out in the process and then getting grumpy with me as he recuperated from his run all around the neighborhood in the heat. (I did get in the car and go after them all once I realized what had happened. it's very hard to carry two unwilling dogs several blocks - heat or no heat - so I understand his frustration, but I wasn't real happy with him getting grumpy with me, especially since it was, in fact, he who left the gate open which allowed them to get out in the first place).
It had been a fairly good day up unto that point. Fuss and I had gone out to Chic-fil-A for lunch with some friends, she had played on the playground nicely and Jo and I had had a nice chat. She took a good nap, and willingly, and woke up cheerful and friendly, which is a nice change of late. (she used to wake up happily, but lately she wakes up incredibly anti-social)
I wonder about my complacency when I'm pregnant. Or maybe it's during the summer time? I remember being pregnant (early pregnancy last time) in the summer, around my birthday and my mom taking me for a makeover when I hadn't worn real make-up in what seemed like ages, even though I was working full-time and didn't even have the excuse of being a SAHM and not leaving the house very often. Suddenly, I looked good again! It was me - in color! I looked fabulous! And now, here I am, looking like a slob in public again. I'm looking forward to my annual birthday makeover in another week or two. Maybe it will prevent me from going out again looking so disheveled for awhile. A girl can hope.