I’m not wearing any underwear. And not because I’m sexy.

So I admit it.  I haven’t worn underwear in 2 days.  Not because I’m sexy (hey you, girl in your midtwenties at my brother’s party, I see you checking out my muffin top and I don’t appreciate it, this is what happens when you pop out 2 shorties in 2 years).  I’m completely out clothes.   And I lost the hamper.  So my closet has a mountain of laundry waiting to be done.  I haven’t done laundry since BEFORE my vacation 2 weeks ago.  If I could find my old bikini, I might wear the bottoms, but really, what’s the point?  If I just skip on the underwear altogether, I can convince myself that it’s not a sign of total lack of functionality on my part.  I’m not wearing underwear because, I, like many young and sexy ladies on television, chose not to.

It’s harder to convince myself that the homeless man outside the Lincoln Tunnel who told me I didn’t have my lights was a friend.  Or that I meant to leave the enormous suitcase full of baby laundry in our parking garage as opposed to bringing it to Jersey for my mom to wash (thanks mom).   Or that when I pulled into the parking garage in hell’s kitchen I MEANT to take the car keys with me because the car was parked just fine in the middle of the road with the door wide open.  Good thing I had lost my license the week before and SURPRISE, it was in the car all along.  The parking garage guy was able to trace me to my husband who supplied him with an extra set of keys.  This all happened within the last 2 days, since the last time I wore underwear.

I mention only these recent events because I can’t remember farther back beyond 48 hours.  This is the life I lead, people.  You should see my house.  It’s clean one minute and the next it looks like a Cheerios bomb went off in my living room spewing also Thomas the train parts.  My daily To-Do list goes something like this 1- get milk 2-get housekeeper(skillslate.com) 3-email that guy about a job 4-find hamper 5-look up adventure travel with babies 6-sell all furniture and buy new furniture (not a joke) 7-move to Binghamton (happening) 8-sign up for triatholon, preferably Iron Man (not happening, but wouldn’t I be awesome if it were true?)

And I don’t work, don’ t cook, obviously don’t do laundry.  What do I do with myself all day?  I have NO IDEA.  I think it must be a bunch of running  from crying baby to screaming toddler and back again.  Handing out cheese sticks and breast feeding.   If I were to describe to you what my day comprises of you’d say, “how nice!  you can nap and take a stroll ourside?  wonderful”.  But believe me and every other mother when we tell you, it’s somehow not that easy. Something about the psychological and physical fatigue mixed in with the knowledge that you really can’t take babies to adventure travel with you in Botswana, no matter how much you want to.

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