The Under Control-ness of it all…

Alternate title: My bras decided to go on a road show without asking me…

So, a few weeks back (I meant to write about this sooner, I’m adding not procrastinating as one of my pre-forty goals, we’ll come back to that… later) the big Ginger had his meet the teacher day.  I got him into an outfit that conveyed he is a normal, sane, child who will be a pleasure to have in class.  Then I got little Ginger and myself into coordinated outfits that convey the message that I am an organized competent mother who will be a joy to work with this year.  My teacher brain may have seized the wheel at points and overthought this just slightly. 

We get to school,  I had already decided that little Ginger was going to need to go in the Kinderpack on my back because she’s going through a bit of a gremlin phase so she had to be contained, and the stroller takes up way to much space in an already crowed room. (see above: wanting to make a good impression).  We get out of the car, and I diligently put the baby carrier on, and put little Ginger in it, carefully copying the moves I learned from the YouTube video and practiced over the couch  before attempting out in the wild. Have I mentioned I like to keep things under control? As I’m moving her around from my hip to my back trying to imitate the YouTube mom who flawlessly executed the maneuver, I hear a male voice ask if I need help, and I see it’s the father of one of the big Ginger’s classmates from last year.  I straighten up with my, “It’s okay, I baby wear all the time, and totally have this mother of Gingers thing under control” smile at the ready and feeling like I might even be exuding a slight chewy granola mom aura. (Don’t judge, it was a long-ass summer).

After a, “Oh, No thanks, I’ve got this! See you inside!” I got a very strange look in return. Immediately I start to overthink if I was brusque or short.  Or maybe my chewy granola aura was just that overwhelming? Then I look down and realize that the neckline of my “put together Mommy” shirt has migrated south during the baby carrier gymnastics and my bra is now on full display… First impression, In. The. Bag.

A few days later, after dropping big Ginger at school, little Ginger and I went off to her dentist appointment.  Her one year one went without a hitch, so I assumed this would be the same and once again, went for the “I got this” vibe with cute outfit for her and a nice off the shoulder top for me. (Raise your hand if you can see where this is headed)  The dentist did NOT go smoothly this time and little Ginger went full force gremlin, using the elastic neckline of my shirt to launch her escape attempt while the male dentist tried to look everywhere but at me. Awesome.

There’s probably a very deep, zen way to wrap this up into a life lesson, but I’m still trying to steer clear of the Doogie-ness, so I’m going to leave it at:

Sometimes I can want to have things under control, and even think they are under control, and my bra is just going to come flying out anyway.  Literally and metaphorically.