The Gradual Descent Into Becoming the Meth-Head Hobo Wife

I came across this video on Baby Sideburns’ blog today, and it was perfect timing, as I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much I’ve let my husband peek behind the curtain maybe just a wee bit too much.

You read all the time about people who don’t fart in front of their partners, or can never go to the bathroom unless the door is closed (I usually have two boys and two pugs in the bathroom with me). I’m always shocked by this, as it seems to me that you should be over that kind of thing when you get married.

Let’s rewind, though, as I also remember thinking that I’d never let myself go when I got married, either. And it’s not that I have, necessarily. I still take care of myself, watch what I eat (to a certain extent), and work out, but after doing laundry the other day, I realized I may be getting just a tad bit too comfortable. There was literally one “street clothes” outfit in the laundry, while everything else was either workout clothes or pajamas. And not the “bow chicka bow wow” pajamas either — more of the Liz Lemon variety. “Shitballs,” I thought, “I haven’t become one of those, have I?”


These are my FAVE PJs. And, yes, those are dogs, thank you very much.

I guess it should have hit me when, in one week, my husband walked in on me vacuuming in nothing but a shower cap (don’t ask) and going to the bathroom while playing Words With Friends (I was on a roll). Before I got married, I remember thinking it was so great that my husband and I were each other’s comfy shoes, but I had to wonder — had I become the old slipper with holes in it that’s been half-chewed and shit on by the dogs?

It’s just that I hated all the neuroses I had while dating. You remember that scene in Bridesmaids when Kristen Wiig gets up, tiptoes to the bathroom to put on lipstick, and then creeps back under the covers so Jon Hamm thinks she woke up looking like a fresh, spring flower. Let’s just say I laughed a little too hard at that scene. We wanted our suitors to think we woke up looking like Kate Upton, we never had gas, we ate like birds, and that our number twos were actually rose petals coming out of our super toned asses. And, frankly, it was fucking exhausting. When it came to letting them get a real look at who we were, we pulled the ole Chris Brown and Rihanna on them — ain’t nobody’s bi’ness (that is how they pronounce it, right?).

I was so happy when I could let my guard down and be myself. Wear less makeup. Let one rip every once in a while. Eat that second helping of ribs while covered in so much barbecue sauce that I look like a roasted pig at a luau. Okay, maybe that last one’s going a bit far. But you get my drift.

The thing is, the transition happens slowly. You don’t go to bed one night in a Victoria’s Secret teddy and wake up in the next in your puke stained maternity clothes. It’s the gradual nature of it all that gets you. One year you’re the hot soccer mom that’s tanned and toned, and the next you’ve begun to leave your house looking like a meth-head hobo.

When I wrote the post on never doing a boudoir photo shoot, many of you disagreed with me. While I probably won’t run out and get one tomorrow, I might ease into this whole thing. I don’t want to go through the exhausting, neurotic dating phase again, but there’s gotta be a happy medium, right?

Where do you stand on all this? Let’s start with the bathroom door — open or closed?

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  1. Kara says:

    It is funny, I was just thinking about this the other day. I was thinking that I loved when my hubbie and I were dating and I got to bathe, mani, pedi, blow dry my hair, shave everything, put make-up on and then open my door to my home when he arrived for the date beautiful…and he never got to see the “behind the scenes” that went on. Now when we have date night he sees the WHOLE behind the scenes….all four kids playing games on my bathroom floor while I try to painstakingly hack away at my arm pits and nether regions. When I look up I see him shaving his face by his sink looking at me through the mirror. Does he think I am sexy? probably not! Does he laugh at me….yes! By the time we are ready for date night…I am ready to wipe all them make up off, throw my hair in a bun, put my compfy pj’s on and half way watch a movie. I would love it if maybe just once he would be surprised and not see the behind the scenes. As far as bathroom time….I can pee in front of him w/out a problem, but #2 door is closed and locked! He pees in front of me no prob, but when he tries to get “too comfortable” and leaves door open during #2 he gets yelled at. And by the way…after being married over 6 years and after delivering four kids (did not have to push, they came c-sectioin) he still has NEVER heard me fart. I told him that one day I am going to shock the shit out of him and just let one rip!!!!! lol

  2. Rashel says:

    This is hilarious, Marnie! I have ONE tight longsleeve shirt that I wear like every night because I feel like even though it’s loungy, it’s a little feminine. I’d buy more but effing Target only sells them with their winter stuff and they sell that stuff in July so I always forget to pick some up. On another note, just this morning as I was driving this lady in these horrible, baggy, non-matching “house clothes” crossed in front of me and I was actually thinking she must be a meth-head, because who goes out like that (and I was in a neighborhood where that’s likely), but now that I think about it, she was probably just happily married, walking to the store comfortably in her neighborhood.

  3. Betsy says:

    OK so who pumped in front of their husbands? THAT is breaking the barrier. We are a door WIDE open couple, and all the pros and cons that go with it, but I could NOT bring myself to do that in front of him. I’d sit in the bathroom for 15-20 minutes by myself every single time. And, yes, I worked and pumped. Most of my friends totally pumped in front of their husbands. In the end, though, it totally wouldn’t have made a difference on the sexiness factor because 2 babies and a total of 2 years of b-feeding later – – my boobs are effectively the equivalent of shrinky-dinks. HAHA! Love it Marnie – keep it up!

  4. Zoe Caldwell says:

    Door closed, door closed! And, I’ve tried to crack this door open from time to time but my man is not letting that happen. I get yelled at even if he’s been in there for thirty minutes reading every article written about the AZ Cardinals on the iPad and I have to ask him a fn question or something. Myself, on the other hand, well, I come from Hippie parents. I’ve seen my parents and their best friends naked more times than necessary. My Dad still doesn’t close the door when he pees when he stays with us, which of course, totally creeps out the husb. On this same note, I still get dressed and put on make-up nearly everyday, even when working from home. I don’t feel professional without it, as if my work will not be as polished if I’m not. I have no idea why this is, and I regret looking like crap when I drop off my kid at pre-school without trying just a little bit. Last week I went to my kid’s swim lesson in my PJs and my husband questioned my sanity. So, this week, I kept my work clothes on while watching her swim. I still trim the hedges, shave more than twice a week, and try to workout. But, I draw the line at what I actually wear to bed- at bedtime I become a meth-head, even on vacation.

  5. Shannon5757 says:

    Let me defend myself as one half of those couples that don’t fart in front of each other. For the record, I am ALL for letting one rip when nature calls, but my husband chooses to believe that women don’t need to fart or poop, and that if we do, it comes out in a nice pretty little box, wrapped with a bow, and smells likes potpourri (I don’t have the heart to burst his bubble). SO, to keep things fair, I told him that there will be no double standard in our relationship; if I can’t fart, then neither can he. Almost 9 years and two kids later, and our relationship still remains (essentially) fart-free. (There have been a few escapees, but I gave him a pass, since mine never made any alerting sound and flew under the radar.) Anyhoo, that’s where we’re coming from….
    As Betsy pointed out though, all that mindfulness went out the window when I pumped in front of him. You could actually SEE the lust draining from his soul. Poor guy.

    In regards to the slow decent into meth-head-hobo-housewifedom, you are absolutely correct: it’s a gradual (but almost unavoidable) process. Back in our dating days, I used to take almost 2 hours to primp and preen every last inch on my body before a date, so as to keep the facade of perfection going. It wasn’t until after our wedding (4 years later) that I started to lax in my regime, to where my husband finally noticed I wasn’t naturally tan. (I’m full blooded Irish, so I don’t know how he couldn’t have known, on a very basic level, that I’m naturally pasty.) Though I confess it is part laziness on my part why I no longer go to great lengths to primp anymore, I say half the blame belongs to my husband, too. The few times a year I actually DO go through the painstaking motions to look “hot”, it’s all in vein, because when I finally do come out for the big reveal, “You look SMOKIN’, babe- let’s have sex!” has been replaced with a meager ‘You look nice.’ And sometimes it even takes me complimenting HIM first to remind him that he should comment on my appearence. Bugger….


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