The Walmart Bathrobe

Call me June Cleaver, but I tend to like looking good when Nick comes home from work. Makes me feel like I accomplished something during the day, even if that’s a farce.   

In my final month before entering momma-hood, my standards slid hard and fast. I’d curated a collection of seven bathrobes by the time Zary was born. At my first doctor’s appointment after her birth, I wore a nightgown. I justified this by layering it with a chambray shirt tied in a “cute” front-knot.  I didn’t even fool my OB.

As a new mom, I was looking pretty cruddy… and crusty. I had gotten so used to the smell of Zary’s spoiled milk on my collars that I took a swig from a by-gone jug and didn’t even flinch (for a few seconds. Please, I wasn’t THAT far gone). Unsurprisingly, my energy level was wallowing close behind my physical state. As soon as I had healed enough, and it no longer hurt to wear pants, I made a conscious effort to get myself dressed. Almost every day. Yoga pants count, change my mind. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’ve been up all night and have to whip out the milk makers every 45 minutes, it’s easier to just live in a bathrobe.

But I committed to rehabbing my appearance, and can proudly say that for the majority of Zary’s life, I’ve looked like a decently put together mom. We go to the gym every few days. I’ve got makeup on for our field trips pretty regularly. Strangers at the store have stopped asking me how many times a night my kid wakes up.  

Something about this COVID lockdown, though. It’s bringing me back to the early days of motherhood. I’ve been awake for three hours and I still haven’t put on pants. Probably won’t wear a bra today. It’s like I’m a new mom again. 24 hours straight in my house with a child. My conversation with other adults is limited to shouting across the cul-de-sac with my neighbors about lost cats. Zary contributes nine words on repeat to our dialog. Ten if you give her the benefit that she thinks “NaNa” can mean either “grandma” or “worms” (sorry, mom).  

I didn’t realize how relaxed I’d become until last weekend. I took my shower and decided to toss on a bathrobe for Nick and my at-home date night; Rationalized my decision with an internal “it’s okay. This is my sexy bathrobe.” Because it shows my… knees? If early motherhood was a valley, this is a damn canyon. Please, for your viewing pleasure, my “sexy” bathrobe. You can find it for yourself at Walmart for $9.

These days I’m genuinely thankful for a husband who [kindly pretends he] doesn’t notice my appearance. Because I really don’t want to change out of this bathrobe. Unfortunately for me, there are fart noises coming over the baby monitor and that means Zary is awake. It’s time to go put on real clothes and help my kid dig up some “NaNas” in the garden.