Sorry to those of you who were thrown off by the title and thought there was a place to go purchase a specific mom body. Alas, no. However, if there was, I’m positive they’re always fresh out of “triathlete” and “got this shit on lockdown” mom body. Lucky for you, there’s always plenty of “lumpy in new places” and “I’m not sure this is mine” mom body.
There comes a time in every mom’s life when they have to attend a public “event” which doesn’t tolerate workout clothes or old black maternity pants with last resort shirt. And then you have to go shopping. It will suck every ounce as much as you think it will. Unfortunately, the only other option is hiring someone to kidnap you just before the event. This can be on the spendy side, and plus your family needs you because your husband is still going to act surprised your family is going somewhere despite months of warnings. So.
The way it usually happens for me is I’m given an unreasonably short amount of time to accomplish the task, given that the time limit is dictated by my husband, who has maintained a near perfect ignorance of what shopping for oneself entails, despite being a perfectly capable 34 year-old man who somehow has clothes to wear. I obviously always have a wild amount of success with this set up, and come home with a mediocre purchase totally worth the self-esteem meltdown. No Bad Days Girls! Smiley Emoji!
The good news: we can make this soooo much easier. Since the entire experience is meant to shove you down the never-ending slide of hopelessness, the chance for success is around 0-4%, and the time to accomplish failure is short, I think we would all be well served if we could just condense the experience into one shopping center.
It would start with a tunnel of doom, which includes a lot of really cute clothes that are all size 0-4, and a couple “Large”, just to give you a little hope, that are actually just size 4. Everyone who works there will call you Ma’am and help you solely because they feel sorry for you in a condescending way. Once you enter the store, you could choose racks to browse depending on your current mood. At a rack under the label “Hope Crushers,” there will be clothes exactly one size down from your current size so you get just enough hope that it will fit, which will be smashed completely as soon as you are in the dressing room. Another section would be “This Is Just Who You Are Now”: a selection of matronly dresses for mother-in-laws’ special events that fit you perfectly but take away all trace of beauty or sexiness from your appearance.
“Fuck It, Just Wearing My Tits as Accessory” would be full of extraordinarily low cut dresses meant to disorient and distract the viewer from everything else happening with the body sitch by presenting an astonishing amount of cleavage. “I Didn’t Want to Spend Any Money Anyway” would be full of super hot juniors clothes that are neither your size nor style, but are a good price, so you can chalk up lack of buying to not finding just the right thing. “I Was Just Starting To Feel Good” will be full of dresses that fit well but happen to highlight your least attractive feature, like your side back roll. “I Give Up Completely” would have a bunch of shapeless shirts that look like they have been aggressively watercolor-ed with the least compatible colors. “I Can’t Leave Here Without Something” will be exclusively black or “color-blocked” dresses that are stretchy material, lacking any trace of originality, but present certain parts of your body in less than awful ways.
But it wouldn’t all be bad. After you make your sure-to-not-satisfy purchase, they will soften the blow by ushering you into a room with flattering lighting, no mirrors, and a La-Z-Boy where you can eat your mall pretzel in peace. And then it will all be worth it.