The Grass Is Greener.

Kiyomi had a dentist appointment on Friday morning to fill two cavities. Turns out that diet we've had her on of juice boxes and lollipops isn't good for her after all. And that toothbrush that I carved for her out of a solid block of sugar? Not helping.

I came home after dropping her off at school in the morning but barely had time to drink my coffee before it was time to go pick her up for her appointment. I only had a few minutes, but in an effort to make myself presentable to other humans I sped through my morning routine:

1. Start to brush hair and give up after realizing it will take heavy machinery to finish the job.

2. Start to apply makeup and give up after realizing it will take heavy machinery to finish the job.

3. Start to put together a smashing outfit but give up when I realize it will take an act of God to find anything clean in my clothes pile.

4. Put on sunglasses in hopes that no one will recognize me in my current state.

We got there early and I was relieved to see they had US Magazine in the waiting room - I was beginning to feel woefully left out of the whole Nick/Jessica debate and I seized this as valuable research time to catch up on the facts. I was busy using a Sharpie to blacken out all of Nick's teeth when a woman walked in pushing a baby in a stroller and accompanied by a small boy who appeared to be around four. She sat down next to me and I couldn't help but notice how neat and put together she was, maybe because at that moment I had attempted to sweep the hair away from my face and now my entire hand was inexorably stuck, tangled for life in my matted mane.

She was dressed in a skirt and neatly pressed (ironed!) shirt, the boots on her feet shiny and scuff-free (polished!) Her (untangled) hair was pulled into a smooth ponytail and her makeup, if she was wearing any, was flawless (glowing!) Why, put a glass of chardonnay and a cheeses plate in front of her and she could have been holding court at a cocktail party instead of waiting for her kid's teeth to be jackhammered.

I managed to free my now bloodied hand from my tresses and started to say something, to ask her how she managed to look so decent with two young children but I knew it would come out as "I hate you, you impeccably-groomed freak of nature" so I stopped myself. While I was patting myself on the back for this remarkable show of restraint I happened to look down at my own outfit, my rumpled jeans, my reasonably hip but wrinkled t-shirt and suddenly felt so...un-together.

Much like being able to tell the age of a tree by counting its rings, I can do the same with the stains on my jeans. Coffee? Ketchup? Hoisin sauce? Crissakes, according to my calculations Id been wearing those things since February. 2005. My t-shirt was clean, thank God, but how long had I been wearing the same pair of socks? And my jacket? I believe Clinton was in office the last time that thing saw the inside of a washing machine.

The question is, when did I go from being that woman to this woman? And frankly, was I ever that woman? I honestly feel like the day I popped my first child out nine and half years ago strangely coincided with the day that all personal grooming products mysteriously vanished from my home. And the last time I actually ironed a piece of clothing? Let's just say that it was taffeta and I was getting ready for the Junior Formal. And I guess the bigger question is, why was I comparing myself to a stranger in a dentist's waiting room?

Luckily Kiyomi's name was called before I was able to spiral down into that deep dark hole of despair I was hovering over. As I was getting up to leave I took one last look at the woman sitting next to me and noticed a small, almost imperceptible spot on the sleeve of her otherwise spotless shirt. Spittle? Milkshake? Grey Poupon? I felt a small tingle of relief - she was human after all, and probably fraught with some of the same insecurities and uncertainties as me. I was enlightened and walked out of the waiting room with my head held high. Now somebody buy me a hairbrush.

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