I have decided that there is a distinct hierarchy when it comes to frump, largely dependent upon a mom's circumstances. Here is my attempt at organizing this observation into some sort of chart-like, pyramid-shaped thingamajig:
The highest level of unfrumpiness (thus the least frumpy) is reserved for working moms (WMs). I know this from experience. Whether we like it or not, WMs are guaranteed at least 20 childless hours a week, out in public, where people wear clothes that need to be dry cleaned once in awhile. WMs actually spend time in the morning considering their general appearance and aroma. This very fact alone makes WMs the very picture of unfrumpiness. (I'm not, by the way, advocating that all moms be WMs. I would much rather getting my frump on at home with my baby girl than out teetering around in heels, smelling of tuberose. But hey, I gotta feel good about something.)
The next rung down the ladder belongs to stay at home moms with help (SAHMsWH). This category rivals WMs for the title of least frumpy, depending upon the amount of help. Unlike WMs, many SAHMsWH often find time to regularly work out and get manicures, in which case they rise to the top of the list. At the very least, they can carve out a little time to stand in front of a mirror. Unlike the next category.
Our third group on the frump totem pole is stay at home moms (SAHMs). I get to be one of these every Friday and ay carumba, what a difference a day makes. There is really no time (or really, reason) to spend any time at all on outward appearance. My daughter loves me no matter how much underarm hair I have, what I smell like, or what is splattered all over my comfy, comfy sweat pants. I try not to leave the house without some basic maintenance, just in case I run into an ex-boyfriend. But the temptation to just "run out" while looking like a cross between sporty spice and roseanne is fierce, I tell you.
Finally, the frumpiest level of them all is saved for stay at home working moms (SAHWMs). Again, I'm speaking from experience. On the days I work from home while also tending to my child, frump isn't a possibility, it's an inevitability. Without a doubt, my husband will come home at night to a wife that's unwashed, in pajamas, and sitting amidst piles of toys and dirty laundry. On these occasions, I spare everyone in the outside world from my frumpfest. I mean, I won't even open the door for the UPS guy. Unless he's delivering wine, of course.