But he was right. I was in public looking completely ridiculous. Like bad. Now I could lie right now and say it was because I was readying the kids and we were running late and I forgot to change my clothes. But that wouldn't be true. The truth is that I did think about changing. I knew I looked a hot scary mess. And I decided to not give a shart. But a funny thing happens when you walk into a waiting room full of people looking like you were just mauled by tiger. You may wish you'd have made a different choice. Even just a clean t-shirt would have done the trick. For shame, Mama. For shame!
A few weeks ago, I very confidently told my husband that I needed his help. That if I had a random kid stain, he should tell me. If I looked strung out, tell me. if my breath was horrifying, I needed to know. I told him that my gauge was off and I'd been spending too much time alone with children to adequately dress and care for myself anymore. I needed a live in main gay, but since I didn't have one, the job fell to him. He agreed but I could sense his fear. His unease at the idea of telling me anything of the sort. He may have broken into a cold sweat. I pretty much assumed he would do nothing of the sort and that he was placating me.
Yesterday, he took the plunge. And after my initial reaction, which was to injure him, passed. I was proud of him. He risked his life to bring that information to me. It's what I asked of him.
They were my favorites. Like ever. I loved them like no others. They are comfy and purple. I wore them while knocked up with both kids. I will probably never find the kind of soft stretchy love that I found in them ever again. But it's time to say goodbye (well the time was probably about 15 months ago but whatever).