Last time I was here I was heavily pregnant with my third child. Swollen, cracked feet, bearing the weight of two people were washed, scrubbed, scraped, soaked, moisturised, polished, buffed, massaged and painted – attention they’d sorely lacked.
Having previously laughed in the face of all things “spa” (for I was a strong woman who didn’t need polishing, pampering and changing either for the good of men or myself!) – I was converted. How had I lasted so long without the hour long devotion to my feet before?! Three kids had changed me.
If my husband can spend money every month at the gym, I shall spend it on this! An hour to do nothing other that sit on my bottom and be pampered. Looked after by someone else.
Tea and pen at my side.
Feet warm and protected amidst the bubbles.
Mind calm and still amidst the incense.
What makes me feel better will in turn outwork good on my family.
I feel no guilt.
I rarely leave the children. The biggest gift my husband can give me at the moment is time. It is my love language of choice.
Just for me.
Nothing to do or say.
As my toenails begin to shine, they and me feel new: ready to attack and appreciate the day.
I admit I am now won by all things “spa” – I won’t judge or shun anymore. Perhaps when 4 Month Old Little One is bigger I shall embrace a whole day of guilt-free pampering. I am learning that the state of my body does affect mind and soul. It does not rule or take primacy but perhaps I will allow myself to develop that relationship further. “Anti body and beauty care” will not be my feminist war cry. I shall embrace shiny toenails and smooth skin when possible, and then run about muddy playgrounds with the children.