Blessed Mum

Summer time is about a lot of things. It’s about soaking up the sun, making time for the beach, ice cream, no work (for teachers!), sangria, and pedicures.

Pedicures are so important because the summer is time for sandals, or even more fun, walking around barefoot. That barefoot is not to be associated with barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen either! It’s to be associated with cool grass and flip-flops.

Now, even as a single woman I enjoyed the complete frivolity of getting a pedicure. It is pretty awesome to go somewhere where I can sit in a comfy massage chair, have my feet soak in a warm jet tub, and have someone else rub my feet, get the nasty dry skin off, and somehow make my baby-fist of a big toe look beautiful with a splash of color. Toes always seem to look good with bright colors that I wouldn’t choose for my fingers.

After my amazingly handsome baby, also known as Little Man, was born there just hasn’t seemed to be time for pedicures. At least, that is what I thought. August came pretty soon this year. Incredibly soon. Taking care of a child takes a lot of time – and even without having to go back to work I have been pretty darn busy. Making time for a pedicure just hasn’t been in the schedule.

And yet, somehow, when I go out on playdates with other stay-at-home-moms, I notice that their feet are beautifully done up with polish. How? When do they go? Who watches their children? How do they justify the forty bucks that one has to fork over for the summertime treat? Do they do it themselves while the kids are napping? My feet would not look that good if I did them myself. And honestly, nap time is folding laundry time or planning dinner time. Or, even more important on some days, a nap for myself. If Little Man wakes up twice in one night to feed then I am typically not thinking about painting my toes.

It wasn’t until I commented on how long it had been since I’d had a pedicure that another mom off-handedly commented back that I had to do nice things for myself.

It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?

Do nice things for yourself.

So, after pumping out lots of breastmilk for the occasion and informing (I might have asked…I can’t remember how the transaction went down) my husband that he and Little Man would be hanging out on a Saturday, I made the plans to go get a pedicure.

Big deal, right? Ha. Well, it felt like a big deal.

Saturday came. My bundle of joy and I went to the gym after he did not want a morning nap. Then we went, in a slightly sweaty state, to the grocery store. After all, I was trying to get him good and tired so he would just nap while I was out.

I really don’t know why that was my goal. I had already prepped the food situation – milk in the fridge, check! I do trust my husband with him. Every child is dropped on their head at some point, right? Juuust kidding. Child care with daddy, check! So why did I want him to be asleep in my absence? Was it for his benefit, or mine? That might be a whole other situation, way bigger than my musings on pedicures.

Once I got into the nail salon, all of that seemed to melt away.

I was just a woman.

Not a mom.

Not a wife.

Not a housekeeper or meal provider.

I was just the original version of my simple self.

The young girl preparing the jet tub for my feet didn’t seem to know all of these other selves were melting away, and so when she asked if the temperature was alright and I gave a confused response, she just smiled. Yes, the water is okay, sort of. It wasn’t as hot as I wanted it to be, but I didn’t speak up. It seemed such a minor detail when I thought about the big picture.

I was getting my nails done! I was going to have beautiful toes, like so many other women.

First world problems, right? I know. It sounds so darn brat-like. Boo-hoo! I haven’t had a pedicure in over six months!

The reality, or big picture though, is that a pedicure is about so much more than toes. A pedicure is about self-love and care. A pedicure is a frivolity that lets me feel like I am worthy of nice things and a valued person.

As she rubbed my legs and feet with the sweet berry scented scrub, all I could think about was closing my eyes and falling asleep. Would anyone notice? Would I start drooling? I didn’t fall asleep, thank goodness. I stayed awake for the whole experience.

Responsibility did start to squeeze back into my consciousness once the polish was on and drying. Should I get home to check on the baby? Would he need his boob instead of the bottle? It is, after all, his boob now. For right now, at least.

Today, when I look down at my gorgeous, rich pink toes, I am proud of myself. I did something for me. I may not be working at a job that contributes money, but I am giving of myself each and every day. That pedicure is my bonus. It is something that tells me I believe that I am still worthy of nice things.

Stupid?

Immature?

I think not.

Waiting so long to get said pedicure might have been a better example of stupidity.