My current goal in life is to be a MILF. I suppose this sounds terribly shallow,
but now that I’m no longer young enough to be considered a “hot young thing”,
this whole MILF thing is the level to which I’ve lowered my standards. I may be a Mother, but that doesn’t
mean I want to look like one.
Prior to giving birth to the Muffin Man I didn’t put a whole
lot of time or energy into personal grooming rituals, other than a standing
monthly waxing appointment to deal with my unibrow. I suppose this laissez faire attitude towards hairstyling
and deodorant can be blamed on my Berkeley upbringing, but now that I have a
legitimate excuse to look like a wreck, I don’t want to. I’m terrified that one day I will find
myself driving a minivan, wearing jeans with pleats, and listening to light
rock. I seriously have nightmares
about this. So, for the first time
in my life I’m putting some effort into my appearance. Most women subscribe to Parents magazine once they have a child,
but not me. I got myself a subscription
to Vogue, because there is no reason
I can’t look fashionable even while covered in regurgitated breast milk.
I think my new obsession with looking hot and fashionable is
some sort of Post Traumatic Stress reaction to pregnancy. I hated being pregnant. Despite the fact that I looked pretty
good while gestating a human, I felt as large as a house and as attractive as a
girl with headgear at the senior prom.
Pregnancy made me feel as though I’d been invaded by an alien, and I
couldn’t wait to give birth so that I could return to some version of my former
self. Ironically enough, it took
pushing a human out of my vagina to get me to wear a miniskirt. Being pregnant made me finally, finally
appreciate my body, and I couldn’t wait to have it back.
I’m actually thankful to my son for giving me the kick in
the ass I’ve always needed to put some thought into how I look. Sure, some days it’s difficult to find
the time to shower and put on clothes that don’t make me look like a homeless
person, but I always feel so much better about myself when I make the
effort. Plus, it’s damn satisfying
when construction workers whistle me at.
Go ahead, call me a MILF. I’ll
thank you for it.
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