Dudes. As I type this, I am afraid my legs may fall off from all the walking I did at the zoo today.
Good thing I have a Sluiter Nation Recruit here for you today.
Beth Anne of Heir to Blair and I have a weird blogging relationship.
And by weird I mean we read each other’s blogs and pretty much never comment. Seriously, she has admitted to knowing everything about me and never talking to me. To which I fell out of my chair laughing because um…SAME!
When we met at BlogHer last year we were all awkward and “hey, it’s you. It’s YOU!” (Ok, maybe that was just me. She was all tall and pretty with her pretty hair. And her sweet Southern Smile. Oh did I mention I have a crush on Southern Bloggers? I’m looking at you, Miranda).
Anywhoodles…we met over our PPD.
I stalked her for quite some time after that.
I totally loved her blog and her straight up writing style and her no apologies swagger.
So I kept reading.
But I just sort of hung back in my reader.
I’m not really sure why. I still don’t know why I don’t comment.
But her life makes me happy. Seeing her with her adorable son (yeah, blondie like Eddie) and hubs knowing what she went through to get there? Happy heart.
So I am pretty excited that she is here today to talk about something that has been in my head since meeting bloggers in real life and after writing my post from Monday.
There’s a rub with blogging where everyone belongs & nobody feels that they belong. Where there’s an unobtainable “cool kids club” that is seemingly defined by stats & who follows who on Twitter & who you room with at BlogHer. Where life is splashed across the pages of the internet with highlight reels & pin-worthy parties & that nagging feeling in my belly that tells me I might not ever be good enough. Blogs can feel like fashion shows of life, for the gorgeous homes & the beautiful mommas & the latest hair style that I will never, ever master with a flat iron because I simply failed Girl 101.
In the realm of the “mommy blogging,” I am surrounded by hot moms. They get pregnant & don’t swell & carry a perfectly round basketball over flowing tops they purchase at Forever 21. When I get pregnant, I’m in maternity pants at 5 weeks, my rings are off by 15 weeks, & even my nose gets knocked up. The entire process is very, very unfortunate for my self esteem. But the other blogging mommas stay rail thin with gorgeous locks, who maintain their sense of style & don’t go to work with oatmeal smeared on their crotch like I have so many times. (Far too many times to count & that’s one over the limit for basic dignity.) These moms spill across my Pinterest feed with gorgeous outfits & holding toddlers on their hip in 3-inch heels.
When I hold my toddler on my hip in 3-inch heels, I’m a) lucky not to fall over & b) paying for it that evening with aching hips.
I wonder where they find the time to be so polished. Where they find the motivation to get back into a bikini. How they know that those stripes would look that wonderful with wedges & a grey shirt. What lipstick they’re wearing because dang, it’s pretty!
I doubt I will ever be a hot mom. I’ll probably always carry a spare tire around my hips & have stinky postpartum feet & never know what to do with my hair. I’ll probably always grab Old Navy button-downs because I’m too afraid of the hot pink blouse that ties at the neck like a 1960′s Mad Men secretary. Maybe it’s because I sit with a book instead of training for a 5K & that I’ve never had much interest in make-up other than covering up the dark circles under my eyes.
But I wish I were different on a petty, insecure level.
Right in my heart parts, this post.
Because yeah, I wish I was all hip and hot and “
Stacy’s Eddie’s Mom Has Got it Going On” too.
Also? BA? If you choose to add to your family by way of your uterus again? I’ll send you the pics of me during both pregnancies and you will feel AMAZINGLY HOT!
People? Don’t just sit there, go read more of Beth Anne’s words on her own blog.
And then go enter my Big Brica Blowout Giveaway!