Sugar and Spice Can Be Kinda Nice

I suppose being female isn't ALL bad:

I mean, I will admit that I do rather enjoy choosing a style and color for my hair, the satisfaction of viewing my carefully glossed and French-manicured toes, deciding heels versus flats with my ensemble for the day, getting an occasional door opened on my behalf, and even my societal right to be an emotional wreck on occasion.

But, I do get tired of all of the hassle. I expect myself to look presentable, all whilst trying to accomplish the daily routine of woman-ness with a screaming tot. It now only takes me 30min to complete my transformation. At one time, it took at least an hour-and-a-half to prepare myself for the world. Unfortunately, I do not have the time to spend, nor do I choose to donate that much of my life to the beauty gods.

Washing, exfoliating, creams, and powders…shaving, and covering, and plucking, and modifying; it is simply exhausting. The number of steps that must occur before I exit the comfort of my humble abode is ridiculous. And, what is even more frustrating is that I then, after all my diligence, still feel completely inferior to my idolizations.

I tote. I clean. I cook. I BREATHE. I buy. I read. I learn. I cuddle. I lift. I coax. I discipline. I laugh. I watch. I listen. I give…

But…I get.

There are some traditional female complaints that do have some up-points. For instance: I did not enjoy the ails of pregnancy, but as horrible as I felt, and despite the bodily morph, I DID get to experience it. I HATE PMS with a passion, however I do get that excuse to cry and moan and whine if I need to on a monthly basis. I feel like crap about the way I have to throw myself together, but it is particularly nice when I DO have the time to make myself feel feminine. I adore being able to yackity-yack about the meaningless. I like my insecurities being filled by a warm embrace. And, more than anything, I really LOVE being a mommy.

Since I have to hide my sentiment when Bambi’s mother gets shot or when the old man in “UP” loses his lifetime partner, I cannot imagine having to be a man. I would totally suck at it.

Sure, I can put on a HARD exterior: bury pain, rough around, and let my inner masculinity shine. BUT, at the end of the day, I guess I actually like my girly hassle. I prefer my constant quests toward beautification. I enjoy hearing, “I want mommy”, after a scratched up knee. I like being the hug-giver. I do get to be the sensitive one.

I have to remind myself that it is pretty cool to be a girl. Or, maybe I'm just an optimist, and I am trying to see the glass half-full, seeing as I don't really have much of a choice.