There was a time in my distant past when pedicures were a weekly treat for myself. This was long before I wore kitchen clogs and before I became a mom. It was a weekly ritual that typically occurred during a hurried lunch hour from the office and would also include the secret eyebrow and lip waxing (and let's just call it what it is, mustache removal). Once I donned my kitchen clogs, these little trips became infinitely more desired, but also less frequent. I wore a baseball cap in poorly lit kitchens so my overgrown eyebrows were less of a priority. Instead, I took to judiciously using my tweezers and restricting myself to basements and darkened bars.
Now that I have Bean, my personal grooming time has decreased even more so. I'm too busy noticing the dishes or the crayon drawings on the wall than looking in the mirror. Yes, there have been times when I catch myself in the mirror and find Sesame Street's Bert staring back at me. Or suddenly I'm Magnum P.I. minus the tan and Hawaiian shorts. My husband loves me and supports me through all of it, never once hinting or commenting on how or why his petite wife has grown into the hairy Harry from Harry and the Hendersons.
I've finally had enough. On our recent trip to Maine, my husband and I were watching Bean play in a kiddie pool on the front lawn. It was a glorious day with the August sun imbuing the grass and trees with warmth and light. The sky was a brilliant blue and we sat in lawn chairs entertaining the notion of house ownership and genuinely enjoying the simplicity of watching our child play on the front lawn. Bean happily climbed in and out of the pool. She splashed and laughed, reveling in her own mastery of splashing and toddling around in the small Little Mermaid pool. We sat there, not saying much, but just content watching Bean in her water wonderland.
I stretched out in the sun, felt the sun on my face and scrutinized my feet. The nail polish on my toes had long since chipped away revealing toe nails that should be clipped. The August sun did more than shine on me, it revealed to my horror, hair on my toes. And this toe hair was mysteriously dark and at least an inch long. When the hell did that happen? Could I blame this on my hormones? Or my simply ignoring my feet? Do I have to start worrying about grooming my feet now too? I flipped off my sandals and hastily inspected my feet. Calloused and dry, and now hairy. Awesome.
And so I left my perfect family moment on the front lawn in search of a razor. The sun shone on my personal Shire and proclaimed me to be a Hobbit.