“Mommy, why do you wear makeup?”
I paused, mascara wand hovering above my left eye and thought for a moment.
Do I tell her the truth? That I:
- smother my skin in foundation to even out any blotchiness caused by repeated sweating over endless boiling pots of
Phineas & Ferb macaroni & cheese having already slaved over the beautiful, well-balanced, uber healthy and delicious oven casseroles she & her brother won’t eat
- apply 10 coats of mascara to give the appearance of bright eyes when really I’m sleepwalking through another tedious recorder recital
- caked on concealer at first to cover the ever-deepening dark circles acquired from years of sleepless nights and midnight, 2am, 4am, 4:30am and 4:45 am feedings, then later to also mask the furrow in my brow crated by prepping crafts and mini muffins at 5am because someone forgot to tell me they were required in class that morning
- contour to camouflage weight gain from sampling said mini muffins (spelt chocolate chip with hemp seed and chia, but still…)
- use an illuminator to divert attention away from the sudden appearance of bags under my eyes, which arrived when she started asking about menstrual cycles and how babies were actually made. “You do WHAT???”
- deploy a booster to help plump fine lines which cropped up when the collagen suddenly disappeared either after I turned 37 or when she started fighting incessantly with her brother over Star Wars Lego
- use blush so I don’t look like Pale Rider at PTA meetings
- wear a specific, deep shade of nude lippy so I don’t look like Night of the Living Dead and scare her classmates on the school run
No, of course not.
Instead I say: “Because it makes me feel pretty, honey.”
“You don’t need it.”
Oh yes sweetheart, I do…