Diamond? What Diamond?

I am a believer in dressing yourself properly.  As a mostly stay-at-home-mom this means I am often in sweats with a tiny ponytail jutting out the back of my head.  But no matter what your weight I think it is nice to have clothing that fits and looks nice...until now.  

When my first child was a newborn I became a huge fan of the show "What Not to Wear."  I would sit and watch it so often my tiny baby began to turn her head toward the TV whenever she heard the theme song.  I loved watching the powerful transformations of these previously ill dressed, insecure women blossoming in to their best selves.  Motivated by this TV show I walked into my closet one day and decided that rather than try on each and every item of clothing to see if it was too tight on my postpartum body, I chose to deposit everything in a trash bag and take it to my local consignment store.

For a while, I had no clothes.  Eventually, I earned some decent money from my clothings' sale and used it to buy new clothes.  So, gleaning from the television show, I forced myself to try on each item and only buy things that were flattering making my clothing options fewer but of higher quality.

Since the birth of my second child I've occasionally been inspired to step out of the sweats and into some of my more flattering clothing I purchased to remind myself of the previously sexy woman I used to be.  I know I was sexy enough at some point to get pregnant twice right? ;)

Sometimes I try to consciously put on make up, find a neglected accessory and some heels just to go the grocery store.  It makes me feel feminine, I carry myself with more confidence and I think my high heels get lonely if I don't wear them every once in a while.  

The day of my first appointment at the WIC office I thought about what I was going to wear.  I couldn't fit into my jeans yet and I had some skirts...but they look better with heels-which is not an option since my back is still sore from being pregnant.  I settled on my favorite cargo style pants.  They aren't gorgeous, and were actually bought from a donations store but the drawstring doesn't cut into my baby belly to give me a "muffin top" and somehow the back pockets seem to be placed in perfect positions to flatter my backside...(who doesn't want the best look possible for their tushie?)  I threw on a nicely tailored white shirt and my red leather sandals.  Not fabulous, but not bad for a woman with a new baby.

WIC stands for Women Infants and Children.  They give assitance to pregnant and nursing mothers along with their children up to age 3.  The process for getting this assistance is different than food stamps or medicaid.  Rather than fill out a form and sending it to an unknown location for a non-English speaking worker to review, you have to physically go to their office.  This is where I decided to go in my cargo pants and red sandals as my first encounter with government aide.

I would like to think of myself as accepting, loving and having a general respect for my fellowman.  But I embarrassingly admit that 5 seconds after opening the door to the WIC clinic I looked down at my left hand and quickly turned my diamond ring around so the stone was not visible.  Part of me turned the ring around because the people in the clinic are "really" poor and I'm "student" poor so I don't want them to feel bad.  Another part of me hid the ring because I really wanted the WIC benefits and I didn't want any of the underpaid workers to see the ring and deny us benefits.  Lastly, and worstly, I saw that I was the only white person in the room, including the employees and didn't want have it stolen.  


Maybe I'm a horrible person for thinking someone would rob me...but after the cop stories my husband brought home I am skeptical of everyone.  If I'm not a horrible person for that reason, I am definitely horrible because while I am sitting behind the two unmarried, teenage, black women and next to the unmarried Mexican woman who does not speak English, I think to myself, "I'm better than they are.  I'm married.  My children have the same father and I was married before I had children.  I'm educated.  I speak English.  I read to my children.  My children are well behaved and clean.  I'm only getting WIC because my husband is in school."  blah, blah, blah, blah.  


In the end, I am in the same office asking for the same help that they are.  No matter how I justify my position, I am at the same level.  I can think of myself as better than them because I know my situation is temporary.  But then I realized what a level of despair they must feel to not have such confidence in a better future. 


 I hate people who abuse the aide system.  Everyone should be required to be a US citizen and have a plan and limit to no longer getting food stamps...but I now have empathy for the people in those offices.  If you had people like me forever saying they are better than you...you just might start to believe it, and with that belief comes the diminished capacity to achieve.  And if you can't achieve--you condemn yourself to a depressing existence waiting in the WIC office until your oldest daughter gets pregnant at age 12 and then you can wait with her.