The miracle of even a moderate makeover cannot be understated, dear mothers-in-arms.

I have felt like a virtual cavewoman since I gave birth. Not only do I, well, feel like I live in a cave because I rarely see the light of day due to the fact that, a) it’s cold outside, and, b) our pediatrician scared us into hibernation for the first 8 weeks of Jonas’ life due to the harsh realities of cold and flu season. (Did you know that babies under two months old with high fevers often need to get a spinal tap just to rule out meningitis? No thanks!)

These unfun facts have led me to seriously let myself go lately, and let me tell you, it doesn’t take long for nature to reclaim what we women work so hard to maintain. In order to still be able to enjoy the effects of my makeover, I put the issues surrounding weight and flabbiness and leaky boobiness aside and simply decided to work with whatever’s left.

The idea is that by prettying up the outside with a little yardwork, my inside will soon follow suit and sunshine and happiness will ensue. And so, slowly, over the past two weeks, I’ve stolen any little chance to sneak away from the Trio of Terror. In pursuit of my mommy makeover, I have:

1. Dyed my ridiculously grown-out gray roots in complete and utter disregard for the chemical concerns that prevented me from dying my hair during my pregnancy, even though I’m still breastfeeding

2. Treated myself to a marvellous manicure... specifically, a gel overlay, so that it’ll last 3 whole weeks and withstand all manner of antibiotic hand sanitizer and the disgusting subungal remnants of explosive diaper changes

3. Indulged in a couple of terrific nursing bras to hoist the girls back up to where they should be, despite the fact that underwire may lead to repeat bouts of painful mastitis

4. Visited a sadistic wench who waxed me into oblivion

5. Sucked up the fact that I still have a few pounds to go, and went out and bought some clothes in a larger size. Psychologically, it feels better than wearing my flimsy, faded summery maternity clothes

I’m still a work in progress – an exercise routine and a facial would do me some serious good – but overall I must say I do feel better.

As an unexpected bonus, I have confirmed once and for all that it does hurt to be beautiful... hurts my bikini line, hurts my scalp, hurts my milk ducts, hurts my pride, hurts my wallet. And beautiful is a stretch, really – it hurts just to feel human again. Hurts so good.