I was standing there on the Juniors aisle with my four month old in the Ergo carrier and my four year old daughter in the Marshall’s cart. Scanning the American Eagle brand shorts with my eyes, looking for a size that may fit over my new thighs that my son gave me for Valentines day.
The thoughts running through my mind weren’t kid appropriate , so I just was silent trying to find SOMETHING that I could wear. Anything really.
:: Oh hell no, these are V shaped. Ain’t nobody wanna see my crotch in the shape of a V. Too many babies came out of that area, it’s jaded. Things would hang out. Things I don’t even know what to call. ::
:: These are high rise. Cool. They can hide all the extra glasses of Chardonnay I have had. I never work out because I don’t want to. Maybe these would work.::
:: These are low rise. Dear God. People would be able to see my C section scar. Even my husband pretends to not see it. Or maybe it’s just because he ignores it. Either way, these won’t work. I’d look like I was trying too hard to be slutty. I don’t have time for that.::
” Can I help you find with anything Ma’am?”
“” Oh please don’t call me Ma’am, I’m not even thirty yet. I have a few more months of bliss.”
” No, thank you though. I’m just looking.”
:: Actually, I am on a Mommy daughter date with my child who has bucked me since day one of her birth. Could you bring me a Prosecco , chilled? I am out with her tonight to make her feel special and loved, as she has been driving me insane trying to get attention. Thanks for the booze. Can you hold my baby? ::
” Oh ok, let me know if you need any help!”
:: I would love a Nanny.::
I couldn’t try on any of the shorts, as I had my sleeping baby in the Ergo. I held them up,
one by one. Each one I had an issue with. This wasn’t like picking out cheap wine, I mean I had to wear these. Work them. Chase our kids and bend over to wipe tiny butts. They must be durable, yet fashionable.
After about an hour in the Juniors department something caught my eye. It was classy, yet screamed Mommy. My eyes gazed up towards the lights, the lights that would guide me home. Home felt warm as my infant urinated and leaked onto my ugly Mom shirt.
Women’s shorts
What is this area that I am suddenly drawn to? The place where it is sized by number and not by small medium and large. The shorts were classy and not risque. Longer lengths and many of them said ” PTA MOM” on the bottom right side.
All these years I have been living in the past. Living a lie. I am no longer a Junior. Junior is dead. I am now having to shop in the Women’s section of life. I am now Senior. Senior mother just waiting to graduate out of the stage of life I am in, all the while trying to find clothes that I can unload the dishwasher in without being shanked by my husband. I don’t want anymore kids.
Still unable to try them on, I held them up to my growing waist line as my daughter shouted:
” Momma, those look like Grandma shorts.”
” Oh honey, Momma thinks these are cute. You don’t?”
Just then my baby woke up and farted like a grown man. The Grandmothers in the aisle with me snickered, then soon became aware of the stench of baby ass. Their swooning smiles soon changed to horrified and I kindly buried my face in a pile of Clearance item scarves. I don’t wear scarves. Too much work. Kinda like bedtime stories. Just please go to bed before I eat my hair.
I mean , can’t we be friends? We are both here trying to find shorts. We all know how undignified and revolting this act is.
I am convinced that there is a group of women, in a galaxy FAR FAR AWAY that sells shorts that actually don’t give you a camel toe. They fit nicely and you are free to run after your children when they refuse to take a bath after a long day of sweating actual buckets of toxic waste and cow manure.
I walked out of that store with a few cute V neck T shirts. Some coffee. The ugly flip flops my daughter begged me for. Some Epsom salts for my aching everything, and one pair of shorts I didn’t even try on. Cheers to hoping they fit without making me look like a Prostitute.
I just want to publicly acknowledge that I am from this day forward, never going to shop for shorts again. Unless I am childless and can try things on. Which will never happen, so I will be unable to.
If you see me in public , please know that the shorts I have on aren’t supposed to be that ugly, or tight. I am not trying to steal your husband with my ugly shorts. I am wearing them because I sweat like a man laying shingles down on a new roof on a 99 degree day without any lunch breaks. Just sweltering heat , dreaming of quitting time. Add a baby with a piss diaper on his back to that stench.
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