Being that I am a stay-home mom myself, I’m familiar with the dress code. Or lack thereof. Mostly containing such staples as yoga pants or sweats. Old t-shirts. Slippers to flip flops. Hair in a disheveled ponytail. There is some room for preference, but the main loose style remains the same. Comfortable. Like we just woke up, or about to go back to bed. With a glass of wine and a box of chocolate.
I kind of wish that stereotype held true to my real life.
Just like I wouldn’t go out without a bra, the same goes for pants. I don’t feel right leaving my house without pants on. I have an affinity for pants. Pajamas are surely the more comfortable alternative, but I can’t bring myself to wear them in public, no matter how far. Not pajama jeans. Pants, people. It’s where it’s at.
Maybe this is my own personal hangup. I should embrace my role, become one with the uniform. They say everyone else around me is doing it. I’d fit right in. Maybe never changing out of your pajamas is the key to happiness.
There was a woman, new to the scene, waiting at the bus stop with her daughter. While I was in a pair of pants, there she confidently stood in her pink fleece pajamas adorned with monkey faces. And I was jealous. Not only was she was more comfortable in that moment than I, but the convenience was a revelation. I have no idea what her day entails, but I imagined her seamlessly slipping back into bed for a few more hours of gainful, restful sleep.
Never have I been able to go back to bed after sending my boys off to school.
Clearly, I’m going about this gig all wrong. I blame my pants.