Flickr photo from Debs ♪Man. I really feel gross. I mean really, really gross. It's like I'm entering the perfect storm of blecch. It has zero to do with my bump or my weight -- I actually feel pretty cute on that front, all fertility-goddess and blossomy and round. No, it's the rest of me that's gone into the crapper.
It started when I posted on Facebook looking for someone to take pics of me, P, and the bump. I got two solid responses from photographers I like, and then I looked in the mirror. My hair! I forgot! I haven't dyed it since I got pregnant, and even though I feel like it'd be okay to do it once during the pregnancy, I can't seem to find the time or inclination to do it. I'd actually love to do henna, but despair at the thought of the cleanup. And the regular somewhat-toxic bottle version I usually do -- well, I'm thwarted by the second part of the problem ...
My shower. We just moved, as you might know from my obsessing endlessly about it. And the new place is fantastic, but almost immediately upon move-in, the clip-on showerhead broke. Just the clip, but that means I have to hold up the showerhead every time I shower, and I am somehow not coordinated enough to do this. My husband thinks I'm nuts, because he's like nine feet tall and always has to hold the showerhead, so what's the big deal? But somehow it's all just beyond me. I'm one of those stand-under-the-hot-water-and-space-out showerers. And dyeing my hair -- I get so flipped out about not letting the dye hit my body, getting it out ASAP, that the thought of having only one hand free while the other is holding a fizzy garden hose -- I feel like the result would be all too I Love Lucy. And our new landlady is all "oh, I have been to the store four times and can't find the right part!" and probably also thinks I'm being a giant princess about this. Meanwhile, my hair = gianter and gianter grease-ball.
Then there's the hair on the rest of my hirsute Middle-Eastern body. My pain threshold, since I became engorrrrged with blooood, has gone from "pathetic" to "DO NOT TOUCH ME," and I can't even imagine getting my eyebrows or upper lip waxed. I mean -- I'm a total baby about it even when I'm not pregnant. Now? Forget it. So I have bushy eyebrows and a fuzzy lip, which is astoundingly attractive.
There's the fact that I have no idea where I packed my razors. Actually, I have the razor itself, but the last time I tried to use it, the triple-blade head popped off and flew across the bathroom in a glorious arc. I think it actually yelled "Geronimoooo!" I sort of saw where it landed, but the idea of wedging myself behind the toilet to find it ... just no. And the new package? Still in a box, apparently, possibly in the kids' bathroom. Beyond me to find it. So: My legs, my underarms. You get the picture.
I finally gave in and started painting my own toes (the trick: sitting on the stairs), so they are less of a disgrace, though there is no substitute for a real pedicure. Sigh. I have toe envy.
Never mind that my skin feels dull, and I can't do anything with my hair but put it in a ponytail because Penelope is savagely offended by anything on or around my hair -- barrettes, hair-bands, cute little clips. All get ripped out off my head and then stuck on hers, for 10 seconds before she pulls them off and tries to put them back on my head, screaming, "DAT! DAT! DAT!!!" It's amusing, but tiring, and also loud.
So here I am, all terrible-looking. Like Wanda from Big Love. So much for my pregnancy glow. Though, you know, my Korean friend tells me, "If you're having a girl, you look ugly because a daughter steals her mother's beauty." That's what her auntie told her, anyway. Um ... thanks, my friend's auntie! This must be one gorgeous baby!
Do you glow, or feel gross? Any frugal, lazy beauty tips for me? Tell me in the comments!