A Pantyliner in My Bra

in: Uncategorized with 7 comments

Last night I got all dressed up and went to two, TWO, moms’ night out events, back to back. I was so excited! Chris has been traveling for work and with Alice still a baby, I do not get out as often as I would like.

I wore a dress, lip gloss, bracelets…but unbeknownst to me, I was also wearing another, very unintentional accessory: A pink Carefree mini right in my cleavage. I did not discover this until in my car, on the way home from the second event, at 10 pm.

How could this happen? How could it get there in the first place, and how could I walk around for EIGHT hours and not know it was there  (I’m a C/D. Ample, but I have never before harbored stowaway cargo in there.)

Edited to include response to e-mail from anonymous reader: No, I have not had any “work done like Tara Reid that made [me] not feel anything.” The very small pad, folded up in a wrapped square, simply was tucked between the fabrics of my bra and dress where there are no nerve endings. But thank you for your concern!

Walking around with a pantyliner in my bra is the latest side-effect of both my baby’s separation anxiety and the sheer nuttiness of our family’s schedule.

In order to buy myself those two kid-free outings, I had to do some serious prep work. I had to pack up my daughter’s ballet items (hair bun gear, leotard, tights, slippers) plus Alice’s diaper bag (insert about 20 items which must be refreshed daily, most importantly clean bottles, water and pre-measured formula)  plus snacks for all three children. Then I had to leave the house on time with Alice to pick up Charlie and Eve from school, get out of the parking lot in the first wave, and then head to Chris’s office. There Chris and I would switch cars and he would handle the afterschool activities with all three kids in tow in a cool you-go-Dad switcheroo.

I also had to make sure I had my directions loaded for both meeting locations to and from, as I had never driven to either spot before. And of course I was on the rag, so I had to make sure my already-bursting purse was stocked with supplies.

In order to get ready and out of the house on time, with a baby in the throes of debilitating (for me) separation anxiety, this all took a good couple hours. I would accomplish one packing or grooming item with Alice playing at my feet with a toy or crawling up my legs and then have to bend down and pick her up when the crying began. She is also seriously attached to a Madame Alexander baby doll that is basically the same size as her, and so I am in effect lugging around TWO babies where ever I go.

So with eyes on the clock and my hands full of both Alice and Bababababy, when making the trek from my bathroom to my purse I shoved my handful of Playtex Sport and Carefree into the only pocket my v-neck dress provided: the cleavage.

And I left one in there.

I think I have toxic shock syndrome of the ego.