NaPoWriMo #21 If You Look Closely

Okay, this poem began very bitter, and ended a little less so. But it is still something I think about even though my kids are older... and I am too.

If you look closely

Look at them, perfectly
coiffed hair, not a hang nail
to be seen. Makeup expertly
(painstakingly?) applied
using all the right tools.

Look at their children, in their Gap
clothes, matching and stylish;
little girl’s hair curled just so;
little boy’s cap perched
at a jaunty angle. Their strollers
are immaculate. No spit up or milk
stains on their diaper bags, and
goodness knows not on their clothes.

Look at their perfect bodies that look
like they’ve never even carried a child
or an extra pound. How do they do it?
Do they have a personal trainer start
right after the birth?

Look at their husbands. Giant hunks of men
in Armani suits with their Bluetooth devices
glued to their faces, yet aware enough
to pick up the dropped soother and whip
another out of a sterile bag in their pocket.

And look at me, hair brushed and clean, but
flying frizz in the humidity. Makeup? What’s
that? Nails short, clean,
but my cuticles are a mess. There’s dried
carrot on my shirt that I didn’t notice
until just now. And I just realized, as I crossed
my legs, that I am wearing two different socks
because I dressed in the dark.

And look at my children. My daughter dressed
herself today, and I let her. I was so
tired. She’s clean, but the same
dried carrot I missed on myself lies
tauntingly in her hair. And my son, just a few
months old, has spit up again, for the third time,
and there is not any clean laundry until
I find my way home again.

Look at me and my children. I have no
illusions. But we’re happy.