Nothing to Wear

Being a mommy gives new meaning to the age-old conundrum of having nothing to wear. Not only have we lost our girlie figures to multiple pregnancies, lack of formal exercise, and one too many goldfish crackers, but the clothes we do have are stained beyond repair with God knows what that rubs off of the kids' mouths, noses and sticky little fingers (and in rare tragic instances, from their leaky little tushies).

I remember reading an anecdote by a well-known correspondent who recorded a whole interview of a Hollywood Hunk-du-jour with baby spit-up on her shoulder, which was later embarassingly pointed out by her interviewee.

This morning, I nearly walked out the door to give Grand Rounds as a guest speaker in a black suit with a huge white chaulky patch of something plastered on the front thigh. I would have wondered the whole time I was speaking whether my fly was undone judging from all the staring at my pants.

Well, just another badge of honor that we mommies wear with pride and love.