I love my kids. I love them so much that sometimes I want to eat their little faces.

But good heavens have they done a number on me, both on my body and my mind.

For example, my body doesn’t react to food the way it used to. I know this has more to do with age than children, but I swear the space once occupied in my stomach by babies has now just been filled with fat stores. The cavern they vacated never went away and has simply been replaced by less precious cargo. Plus I have all their delicious kid food lying around, and all of their holiday candy. We’re still working through Halloween and since then have added Christmas and Valentines to the stash. They may just find leftover chocolate Santa’s in their Easter baskets this year.

My body also doesn’t react to clothes the way it used to. It used to welcome tailored waists – belted waists even. I’d go as far as to say I looked good in those clothes. In pants that button. These days I’m at my best hidden under very stretchy layers, which is part of the reason I welcome the 10 months of winter that comes with residing in Wisconsin.

My post- baby body literally swallows up the cuts of clothes I used to wear. Which works out well in that I never have to even think about thongs anymore — this is a great thing as I despised them even before I had child bearing hips. However, this weekend we had a wedding, and I brought one along in case my underwear of choice these days didn’t work under my dress.


And this is where the damage my kids have done on my mind comes in. Luckily the dress I wore was very thick and hid my bloomers well, so I didn’t end up needing the dreaded thong.

But then I woke up Sunday morning slightly worse for wear. (Having children has also done a number on my ability to recover after a night out). Sunday I woke up in the hotel feeling a little rough, and I couldn’t find my hair tie. And I needed something to pull my hair back in the shower.

Enter thong.

It wasn’t my best moment, but if it’s not going to work under my clothes, at least it could still serve a purpose. So into my hair it went.

Fourteen short hours later I went to wash my face before bed and realized that it was STILL securing my ponytail.

I’d been to two gas stations, a grocery store, a friends house and my parents house wearing a thong as a hair tie.

Why? Because I can’t remember anything anymore. My brain is so maxed out remembering appointment times and school snack schedules and activity sign ups and names and birth dates and weights and heights and Tylenol dosages and stuffed-animal whereabouts that it simply cannot be bothered to remember that there is an undergarment on my head.

Two weeks ago I forgot to take Evelyn to ballet. Last week I forgot to bring in a stool sample to Pippa’s vet appointment. Then I forgot any sort of toy for Lottie while we waited for Evelyn to be done at dance, which is how stool sample containers have became her new favorite toy.


And not just on that occasion.


So there you have it. My body and my brain have both seen far better days.

I forget a lot of things. But for all of the older women who have told my kids “My my you look cold!!” as we walk the ten seconds between the car and Costco without their hats or mittens or coats on, it’s not because I forgot said items. It’s because they’re 1, 2 and 4 and sometimes it’s just not worth the fight. But that’s another post for another time.

So it may be Monday, and my house may be a disaster (again), and I may be unshowered (again), but at least my hair is held back by an actual hair tie. And that, my friends, is a win.