Redefining Beautiful

No one told me my hair was up in a poof. 
And the part that's matted down—that's peanut butter, not mousse. 
I'm now missing an earring
I remember why I wear them so seldom
Oh, shiny, thinks baby with a handle to yank down on
My mascara is smeared across my cheek, but to be fair
I don't wear it enough to remember it's there. 
I was reaching for deodorant when the screaming began
And never whisked it on before whooshing away in the sedan.
It's been two days since I showered.
Pits are a little bit smelly.
My lower abs still jiggle like a bowl full of jelly.
Stretch marks and scars climb like vines up my belly
My waistline with time's gone the way of black and white tele. 
Puke is in fashion as well as applesauce and snot
My shirt is a napkin; I don't buy new tops
I pee when I laugh, so that makes me feel sexy
My hairy legs haven't been shaved in more than a century. 
My pants sag down. Sometimes I forget my zipper.
This comes from squeezing into jeans while dancing around little nippers. 
Where I once had complete thoughts, there are now only blanks
My mind declared mutiny and then walked off the plank. 
I'm scattered. I'm frazzled, exhausted and stressed.
I am Mom. I am loved. I am a beautiful mess.