The Gooey Badge of Mommydom

You know, I've never really been one for fashion. Sure, I like clothes, but I was never what anyone would consider hip. I am, by nature, unable to wear anything uncomfortable - hence the many pairs of elastic waist pants - and I'm much too lazy to ever do my hair or wear make-up on a regular basis. Hell, I can't even be bothered to shave my legs unless I'm being forced to dress up by circumstances beyond my control. HOWEVER, I would really like to get through just one day without smashed banana, pureed sweet potato, or some kind of sticky baby handprint on my clothes.

I know, there are many things about motherhood one must get used to: waking up at 3 am because you're sure the noise you just heard was zombie robots abducting your baby, worrying that your child's minor sniffle is actually some rare microbial infection which will cause her to someday vote republican, the utter lack of public dignity when trying to entertain your nap-deprived child in a grocery store. ("look honey, mommy has bananas on her head!") But lately, it's the huge amounts of laundry that seem to pile up overnight that get to me.

Sure, there are moments of pure parental bliss that accompany mommydom: Lena's little face when she sees me in the morning, her new happy dance which now includes much hand-waving glee, the crestfallen eyes of the mommy whose son she beat up. But really, it's the laundry I'm focusing on right now. I want my shirts back.