Down the Rabbit Hole

What Makes a Woman

There was a time I would have defined myself very differently. As I felt all women did, I owned at least one black lace bra and black leather boots that zipped up my calves and fit like a second skin. I took the time to wear both scented body lotion and perfume. I had a host of makeup, some for nights out, some for the daylight hours and some shades just for sitting around the house and looking put together. I bought clothes cut to flatter, wore some a little too tight and some a little too short. I could always be count on to flash a hint of cleavage when appropriate. My ideal night out was listening to some live music at bar, my lacquered fingertips tapping along to the beat on the stem of my wine glass. And while I still love wine and appreciate the rare night out on the town, the rest of it I fear, has become a casualty of motherhood. I'm fairly certain that my black lace bra still exists but has been banished to the back of my dresser drawer, replaced by far more sensible undergarments. I still wear the boots on occasion but the clothes once cut to flatter no longer do so in the same way. After a difficult experience with nursing, these days I'm far less likely to intentionally flash the twins. I think the last time I wore any makeup at all, night or day, was several months back. I consider it a victory if I make it through the day without discovering a spot of baby snot or dried rice puffs on the shoulder of my sweater. It is a monumental achievement if I manage to get lipstick or mascara on between traffic stops during my commute. What makes a woman though, I have learned, is a great deal more than makeup, or sexy clothes, or smelling like something other than baby lotion. Women are better defined by their grace, their wisdom and their strength. I can still command a meeting even if I've just brushed baby food from my hair. I can still close a deal with confidence even after a sleepless night or stressful morning. I'm just as razor-sharp as I ever was, even more so now that I've acquired a whole new set of instincts to work with. And I think I can even still make a man swoon if I look at him in just the right way, cleavage or no cleavage, even if that man happens to be my husband. Don't get me wrong, I would love be as outwardly womanly as I used to be and given some time and some extra work, I may be able to get back there soon but until then, I have to accept what I believe makes a woman a woman and be happy that I have those attributes in my corner.