New Shades

Amanda has the baby for a few moments in the evening. We have been passing him back and forth so that each of us, in turn, may do a couple things for ourselves.
I sneak up to the bedroom, sounds of Jace disappearing behind me.
I tuck my foot under myself at my vanity table and open the drawer, slowly, almost like a thief.

For My 30th birthday I bought myself a really crazy lipstick color. A vivid pink with violet undertones. I haven't had the chance to try it on. Plus, I have been savoring it, keeping it for an emotional meltdown.
Nows a good time as ever.
I tried to go clothes shopping earlier, and came back with nothing but a candle. Everything I tried on looked horrible and wrong. So I settled on a little aromatherapy to calm my nerves.
But back to the lipstick.
I slide it out of the case and pass it over my lips. It feels like warm butter and smells faintly of wax.
I open my eyes wide, like an innocent doe. I turn my face from side to side. I make the expression that every woman does when she is considering herself in the mirror.

I look ridiculous. The color is foolish. It's meant for a child, or a Kardashian.
Also, where would I ever wear it? My mother in-laws house? The grocery store? This is the mid-west, not LA, so I would either look really pretentious, or really schizophrenic, considering my coat no longer buttons over my milk engorged breasts, and my hair always looks like I was in a wind tunnel, or a crawl space.
I wipe it off with a square of toilet paper and throw it toward the garbage. It sails through the air, but because of it's lightness, lands feet from the basket.
The act of picking it up seems daunting right now.
Adjusting to body after baby is really hard. Adjusting to mind after baby seems harder yet.
And, realizing there are certain things in your wardrobe which will rarely if ever be used again is another life lesson I have learned.
For example. I might look a little silly in an asymmetrical,  off the shoulder sequin tunic. Especially if I'm pushing a stroller, or holding a screaming child. I might as well throw in my 6 inch sparkly heels, or that really great lipstick I purchased for my birthday.
I'm not saying that I can't dress nicely, but things I think are just going to be a little different from now on.
How many of you women have altered your mode of dress after baby? Whether it be looser garments, less cleavage, or lower heels, I'm sure in some way or another you have toned it down.
Maybe that's how things are supposed to be.
I'm already covered in tattoos, and make up one half of a queer couple. I already shock and scare. I don't need clothes or make-up helping me along.

We are role models for our little ones.
If nothing else, we have to make the statement to them, respect yourself, show your confidence through the way you present yourself to others.
Don't lose who you really are, but don't let things like fushia lipstick on a tired, puffy eyed face, come back to bite you in the butt one day.
That, or a selfie of yourself in a white bathing suit, where your all boobies and ass and desperation.
Call me crazy, but nothing says I'm a new mother more than that look.