I’ve fallen into that trap we’ve all fallen into, of trawling the internet, clicking links from blog to blog to blog, seeing all these lives – these beautiful women in beautiful clothes living in beautiful houses somehow un-ruined by their beautiful children. I’ve wasted hours. Days. And been left feeling frustrated and jealous, coveting what I do not have.
My house is messy and somewhat unkempt. There are dishes stacked by the sink – baby spoons and sippy cups and the blender Simon uses to make smoothies every morning. Our kitchen trash can is too small, so sometimes we just put our garbage into a big black sack in the corner.
There are toys on my living room floor pretty much 24 hours a day – blocks, trains, toy giraffes. Most nights, I tidy them away into a cupboard, but sometimes I don’t, because I know they’ll come back out again at 7am. There are bits of rice cake ground into the carpet; there is melted candlewax on my hearth; there are tiny little trousers stained with fruit and tomato sauce and milk lying on my bedroom floor.
My own appearance is no different. My favorite hoodie has spit-up on the shoulder, and I keep forgetting to wash it. Some of my jeans are too big in the butt, but I wear them anyway because they’re comfortable. Most days I just scrunch some mousse into my hair and let it air dry. I can’t remember the last time I felt stylish enough to stand pigeon-toed with my hand in my coiffure, showing off my cute outfit and vintage pumps. I don’t even own any vintage pumps.
But here’s what I have learned: vintage pumps are overrated. As are perfectly made beds and dream kitchens.
My life is disheveled, sloppy, messy. But, to me, messy is beautiful.