So this is going to sound completely nuts, but…
You know that saying that grandmas (and I guess I) use: “She’d lose her head if it wasn’t screwed onto her body”? (Or something like that.)
Well, these days it would not be 100% out of the realm of possibility for me to leave the house without pants on. (Yes, ha ha, she tends to go pantless on purpose from time to time. I’m talking about forgetting the lower half of my outfit when its presence is most certainly required.)
The thing about breastfeeding is that it’s a hell of a lot easier if you stay in a state of partial disrobement at all times. And because this style of dressing has started to feel normal, I’ve had to remind myself on occasion that this is not an appropriate state in which to say hey to the FedEx guy or assorted other visitors. Yesterday I took Indy over to the doctor’s office, and halfway there I felt a chill in a place where a chill should not be, and had a total panic attack, and had to check to make sure that I was in fact wearing leggings, and hadn’t accidentally put on tights and forgotten to add the requisite something-to-go-over-them. As it turned out, I was happily covered up – just not wearing enough layers – but I am constantly doing things like leaving the house to walk the dogs wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. In January. And you know what? A couple of times I’ve just said “F it” and continued on my dog-walking way. Because once you’ve wrestled a baby in a bear suit, a panicking lhasa apso, and a near-comatose shih tzu down four flights of stairs, hypothermia seems like a better option than prolonging the experience for one more second than absolutely necessary.
What’s obviously going on here is that I’m so preoccupied with making sure that the baby has the gazillion things he needs in order to leave our little nest happily and safely that I’m completely forgetting to attend to my own attire. Whatever goes on my body is usually the fastest and easiest thing to put on when I’m already fifteen minutes late (because despite the fact that I have historically prided myself on being to-the-letter on-time, I am now always fifteen minutes late).
But…if you see me walking down the street, and I’m not wearing pants…
maybe give me a heads up.
P.S. In an odd coincidence that makes this post shockingly timely…did you know that Sunday was apparently No Pants Subway Ride Day? ‘Twas.