Looking like a scrub

Today, I found myself at the Richmond Beach Strawberry Festival in an old college tee shirt with paint all over it, dirty yoga pants, wearing Tom’s flip flops. My hair had been haphazardly pulled up at some point during the morning- clearly without the use of a mirror, and my face bore no makeup. A wet spot appeared over one breast due to forgotten breast pads. To be fair I hadn’t intended to go to the festival when I left the house. No, we were just going to hit the last twenty minutes of the comic book event that the library was hosting- because there were a bunch of guys dressed up as super heroes. But when we got there and the event was essentially over- and there were no super heroes in sight- my caped and masked boys were quite disappointed. Looking for some other way to enjoy our Saturday sans Tom (he was helping with a move) I thought we’d swing by the festival. I didn’t really think it through- we just went. I didn’t have a water bottle, or sunscreen, or a nursing cover. I looked like a scrub. But we went, had a great time, and I came home with three happy children who were thrilled to have jumped in the bounce houses, tasted the strawberry short cake, played on a new playground, and rolled down hills overlooking the Puget Sound. (Well, I’m not sure they appreciated the lookout, but I did as I nursed Chiara as discreetly as I could without a cover.)
Friends, it’s come to this. . .
Thank goodness I live in Seattle, where going out au naturel is the norm. I guess when you add a baby to your mix, you have to subtract something else. Today, I chose to garden and organize rather than get ready. And I chose to get out and make memories with my kids, instead of worrying about my appearance. So next time you see me, and worry that “I’ve let myself go” don’t worry, I’m just holding on to what’s truly important!

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