As a mother and an adult, I majorly lack in some areas. Especially the arena of self care. Even during my military days, I always took care of others way before myself. I mean I washed my ass and brushed my teeth, but getting the newest items never crossed my mind.
Well, that habit hasn’t changed, not even in the slightest bit. Oh, I need a new hairbrush? Let me jurry-rig it real quick because my oldest needs clothes. Oh, I need new bras? Well it hasn’t fallen apart (as the straps are so worn out I can wrap them around my head twice) and my little one needs new sippy cups.
During my pregnancy with my daughter I gained an immense amount of weight, 100+ lbs worth. I mean, I’ve lost 87 lbs of that 100+, but during that time of channeling my inner whale, me and my underwear would have full WWE World Championship bouts, jumping, rolling, and screaming, for them to make it over my Mt. Everest thighs.
So in the process, I stretched my underwear out to the point they screamed and still scream at me in complete defiance. However, I’m still not small enough to fit into the “Oh crap! They’re too small” underwear buy during that time.
Anyway, I digress.
So this morning was like any other. It’s too cold for hell bird currently, so I woke up solely to the 15-month-old high falsetto blood curdling alarm clock. Heart pounding, back straight, staring at her evilly, my legs thrown over the side of my bed.
Giggling, she crouched back down in her crib, waiting for me to pick her up.
Sluggish, I walk over to her crib, pick her up and get her changed and ready for the morning. My oldest already up watching YouTube Minecraft videos. We head downstairs, filled with the singing of Sesame Streets “Letter of the Day”.
Screaming at Google to turn the living room TV on, putting her down and she immediately ran into the living room, giggling and cackling away. I turn into the kitchen to get breakfast started, served with my morning dose of caffeine.
Coffee brewing, I go to open the refrigerator when I suddenly felt the need to make my bladder gladder. Peeking through the kitchen window, I see little miss bow-legged dancing, clapping away to Super Readers.
Yes! I can go to the bathroom in relative peace. How long will it be before she notices I’m not in the kitchen?
I shrug and struggle to find the bathroom light.
I jump up, startled, my warm bottom shocked by the cold emptiness of the seat. I sit back down sighing, observing the state my underwear is currently in.
Staring in the bathroom mirror, messing with my frizz puff, I hear the small shuffling of feet down the hallway.
“What are you doing?”
Bright-eyed, teeth bared, “Hi!” She whispered peeking around the doorway.
I smiled and continued my business as she closed and opened the bathroom door.
My oldest trampling down the stairs, inquiring about the silence downstairs. Which by the way, he never does unless he’s being nosy.
“Oh, there you are! What are you doing?” he asks while he sees I’m sitting on the toilet.
Really? You see I’m on the toilet boy. My face resting in my palms as both kids are in the bathroom doorway giggling away, playing with the door. I just want to pee in peace. Why can’t I pee in peace? If I close the door my youngest freaks out and screams at the door. My oldest sits down in the doorway telling me about his absolutely insane dreams. Just let me pee. I swear I’ll be done in a few minutes.
Finally I finish and yell at my kids to leave the doorway as I have to wipe. My oldest grabs his sister and to his dismay, she is screaming the entire time.
Pulling my underwear up, the threads struggling to keep it together, slowly the fabric separates itself from the band. I didn’t notice it right away as I was in such a hurry to get out and calm the storm that was my living room with kids.
With one loud, “Get up here!” It finally gave way. I managed to rip my underwear clear in half. One half in my hand, the other half hanging on by the fat of my inner thighs.
I stood there appalled and offended that my underwear gave the ultimate f-you.
Sitting back on the toilet, staring at the half of my underwear gripped tightly in my palm, my oldest comes sliding past the doorway channeling his inner Tom Cruise from Risky Business. Fingers stopping his slide mid way, face split in half by the door, his smile ear to ear.
“You okay mom?” Holding back his laughter.
“Need me to run upstairs and grab you some new underwear?” Choking back his laughter.
My youngest peeking around the corner assessing the situation.
Waddling her way past her brothers legs, she notices the flimsy fabric I’m man gripping in my hand. Bully poking with her index finger at my hand, signaling she wants what I have. I continue to ignore both of them as I’m still trying to figure out what happened to my underwear.
My oldest demon grinning, maniacally laughing under his breath. My youngest playing tug of war with the stripped band, screaming in anger that I haven’t let her have it yet.
Jesus, who did I piss off for you to take my underwear from me this morning? Did I hurt someone so bad that this is my payback?
I look in the mirror at my current self, my hand releasing its grip on the sister to the fabric shoved between my thighs.
My daughter ecstatic, ripped the fabric violently from my relaxed hand, screaming and giggling down the hallway. Waiving the half in the air like a flag. My oldest still peeked around the door, pointing at me hysterically laughing.
“Go upstairs and grab me another pair of underwear,” grudgingly mumbled through my teeth.
Laughing, he replied, “Okay! Just make sure you don’t rip these too.”
I wished nothing but ill things to happen to him as he trotted upstairs still laughing at the situation. My daughter speed waddling back and forth in front of the doorway, waiving the remnants of my underwear spazzing.
The sound of a herd of elephants echoes throughout the staircase. Guess my son found a pair of underwear.
His brown arm jutting into the doorway as if in protest.
This boy went and grabbed me the underwear I still can’t fit because it’s a size too small. I sigh in protest and give thanks, asking him to close the door behind him.
The click of the latch connecting fills the bathroom and I proceed to have WWIII with my fat self and the underwear that’s a size too small.
My kids laughing away in the living room.