By: Harmony Hobbs
I used to be the modest type. On the morning of my wedding day I changed in the bathroom instead of in front of my bridesmaids. I wore a ridiculous getup the first few times I spent the night with my now-husband. It involved sweat pants. In the summer. In Louisiana.
You know the type . . . the closet changer. That was me.
When my son was born almost two years ago, something happened. I think I stopped caring about who saw my va-jay-jay sometime during the second hour of pushing. Several days later, I stopped caring which of my family members saw my ridiculously large boobs while I was attempting to breastfeed. All I cared about was my son, my sanity, and surviving my first post partum poop. Modesty wasn’t really on my radar anymore – I had more pressing issues at hand.
Sometime during week 8 of my maternity leave, I walked out the front door without a shirt on. It was an accident, but it solidified my new relationship with unabashed behavior. I had the car seat in one hand, diaper bag in the other, looked down and saw I was just in a sports bra and some hideous lounge pants. All of my maternal glory was out there for the world to see. I stood in the driveway contemplating … how inappropriate is this really? The answer was very, so I headed back inside. However, just the fact that I took the time to consider the situation let me know that something had happened to me. And it was liberating.
As a working mom, I have to show up to work five days a week looking somewhat put together. It’s hard enough for us girls to claw our way to the top of the corporate ladder . . . looking a mess isn’t going to help matters. I have to make a daily wardrobe decision between
Monday – Friday, I always choose fab over function. If I have a choice between pants and a crewneck, or a dress with a v-neck, I’m going with the dress.
Because I’m a mom—a mom that chooses to wear dresses—I’m going to flash people, and it’s going to happen daily. I’ve accepted this. There’s simply not a modest way to bend over into a car to buckle in a child. Everyone on the street is going to see my Spanx. Yes, I wear them. Also, there will be some serious cleavage, a bra strap, and possibly a chunk of some other body part if the wind is blowing.
I don’t do it on purpose, but I also don’t really care (anymore). Giving a proper goodbye to my son and getting him and out of the car safely is more important to me than worrying if my left boob is hanging out. I just do the best I can. In my quest to achieve the Holy Trinity: maintaining my career, maintaining my family, and maintaining my sense of self – I have had to let some things go.
My modesty was the first to go. My vanity is still intact . . . and my self-respect. I think.
Harmony blew into Birmingham after Hurricane Katrina and is a self-proclaimed “never home maker” striving for a balance between her career and family life. Visit her blog Working Mommy Madness