Glitter is literally the definition of my whole life with a toddler. It’s everywhere and while I wish I could say that was an exaggeration, it’s totally not. My life is consumed with tiny flecks of sparkly pieces.
My house looks like a strip club with less poles and more trikes. I’m constantly covered in the devilish crafting tool, as is my boyfriend, and our daughter. Along with ourselves, so is our furniture, bedding, and all of the toys in our house.
There’s no escaping it.
So instead, I’ve embraced it. When someone mentions I’ve got a fleck above my lip, I just say I was trying out the new stylish sparkle eye shadow and some of it must have gotten into my face.
Just kidding. No one ever tells me I have glitter on my face. I just wear it around like a fool because no one ever tells mothers they have anything anywhere on them.
Maybe it’s because the rest of the public knows that’s just what happens when you have children and there’s no helping it. Or, maybe it’s because no one wants to tell a sleep-deprived woman she has something on her face for fear of being verbally attacked. Both are likely possibilities.