Trust me, BUY the panties!

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Chris and I hatched this idea to trade blogs and write about our most embarrassing moments. I won’t lie to you, I was nervous about it. When I started this blog over a year ago, it was a humor blog or, at least, that’s what I hoped it was. But the truth is that I haven’t felt that funny for a long time. New opportunities and greater freedom are brining sensation back to the ol’ humerus, however, and I can’t think of a better way to bring some haha back to this blog than by sharing Chris with you. We’re trading spaces today and you can find me at her blog, Pixie C.D.

Chris writes about everything from chronic illness to bird wrangling and so much hilarity in between. Buckle up. You’re in for a real treat. When she’s not on her blog, you can find her on Twitter as @PixiecdLYW and Facebook (and I highly suggest you do find her).

So, without further ado…

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 I’ve heard it said that pregnancy causes forgetfulness, which is really just a nice way of saying stupid. Pregnancy causes stupid. The amount of stupid caused is directly related to the number of pregnancies you’ve had divided by the number of years in between each one.
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 This explains a LOT with what I’m about to tell you, since the “incident” occurred when I was on baby number four in as many years. If you did the math, you’d see I’d just about bottomed out on the smarts chart.
 In the Summer of 1994 I was a stay at home mom with three Offspring under the age of five, a very LARGE bun in the oven, and enough water weight that I looked like Fat Bastard in a tie-dyed skirt. Not the world’s best combo for a seriously hot year in Indiana and three rug rats that were sick of playing indoors.
 My best friend Kerra, in an attempt to save my sanity, had the brilliant idea to take the kids to the airport’s Observation Deck to watch planes take off and land. 360 degrees of glass with constant motion to keep them entertained and sweet, sweet air conditioning for me? It didn’t take a whole lotta convincing.
 Fast forward two hours, during which time we spent a mere 30 minutes on the Observation Deck because the evil little mud munchers weren’t interested in the planes. What they WERE interested in was drawing spit-pictures on that wonderful 360 degrees of used-to-be-clean glass and running laps like it was the Indy 500.
 We’d just managed to get the three of ‘em loaded, strapped and buckled in and were on our way back to the apartment when The Oldest’s voice cried out the dreaded, “Mommy, I gotta pee!”
 I automatically began the ancient Ritual of Distraction Through Logic with, “Why didn’t you pee before we left the airport?” trying to buy us time to find a gas station. Not for the first time, I regretted the decision to potty train them before they hit Kindergarten.
 “I didn’t haf too den. But I do NOW!!!”
 10 minutes later, we found a Village Pantry that the thought of spending time in its stalls didn’t scare the crap outta me. Of course, by this point Middle Son had joined in the, “I gotta pee!” chant and The Girl was busy going all drama queen about dieing of thirst, meaning all three had to be unbuckled, unstrapped, unloaded, and marched inside.
 Allow me to interrupt and take a moment to explain where the REAL stupid was happening, because it wasn’t with the Offspring. Nope. This was the kind of stupid that happens quietly, behind the scenes where it can lull you into a false sense of security as it snowballs from a tiny stupid to a monster WTF!-style of stupid that few are privileged (or cursed) enough to ever see. And baby, it was ALL MINE.
 Here’s the thing, after three babies, I’d proudly proclaimed to the Universe that my family was complete; there would be no more babies buying tickets to slide down my mommy-chute. This ride was officially closed! Then I’d given away every last scrap of maternity wear I owned.
 By the time the Universe had a point-and-laugh at me with surprise #4’s arrival heralded by two pink lines in the results window, we were already flat broke from feeding and clothing the first three.
 Lack of extra funds and pregnancy stupid coalesced into some seriously questionable calls regarding my baby-bump fashion gear. Like deciding to NOT buy maternity underwear. (Yeah, you read that right.) I shamelessly declared that if the granny panties that stretched enough to cover my girth were in the laundry? Mommy was goin’ commando. And that tie-dyed skirt I mentioned? I owned a ton of ‘em, all one-size-fits-all, ankle length, lightweight material. PERFECT for hiding those days I was in serious need of catching up on laundry.
 Five months later, we arrive back to where we were on a hot and WINDY day. I’d just spent 30 minutes of what felt a lot like herding cats, trying to get my tiny gang back in the friggin’ car.
 I was bent over (or as close to bending as I could get) and re-loading, re-strapping, and re-buckling the Offspring into the backseat when it slowly began to dawn on me things were feeling a bit…drafty.
 My pregnancy brain tried to puzzle through the sudden posterior breeziness as my hands went on autopilot. “What the hell’s tickling the back of my neck and where’s that snickering coming from?”
 As I tried to inch backwards to pull my top half outta the back seat, by hinny made contact with coolness. Slick coolness. Like skin-on-glass contact with slick coolness.
 I lurched up fast enough I cracked my head on the inside of the car, but the moment I turned around, I realized two things that took immediate precedence over a lump on the head.
1) A car had parked beside of us and the driver was still inside, his face purple and his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to stifle uncontrollable laughter.
2) A stray gust of wind had grabbed my comfy, tie-dyed skirt and LIFTED that lovely light weight material straight up and OVER.MY.HEAD. as I was BENT! OVER! bucking in the kids.
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 Meaning, not only did our parking lot neighbor get one heck of a free show, but that show then BACKED. UP. right into his driver’s side window, nary a scrap of material between his bulging eyes and my bulging…NOT-eyes.
  Ya know what? There is nothing in the world to convince a woman that investing in a few extra pairs of granny panties is TOTALLY worth it like prolonged eye-contact with a purple faced man who has just had some prolonged eye contact of a different sort.

Yep, that kinda things will sink right through the stupid. It’ll also take you three steps beyond grateful that you live in a huge city with enough gas stations that you’ll never have to stop at a certain Village Pantry near the airport, ever again.


You can find more of Chris  on Pixie C.D. – Twitter – Facebook – Google+ – Pinterest

Header Image courtesy of Stuart Miles /

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  1. Thank you Kate! I had a wonderful time working with you and if even one person gets a good chuckle outta this, it will have been worth the 20 years of mortification it’s caused. *deep breath* Let the healing begin?

  2. I’m trying to think of an equally embarrassing moment that could compare to yours. I got nothing, you win.

    • My only defense is I was 23 and STUPID! That and I must have known, deep down, that one day this thing called the internet and blogging would be invented and I’d be able to use it for a good story. *hangs head in continuing embarrassment*

  3. [inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale] I’m sorry, I’m trying to catch my breath from all the laughter. I lack the words to convey my sympathy and my gratitude that–while I have not experienced this same thing, I now know that someone somewhere understands the stupid that comes from a slew of pregnancies one on top of the other (no pun intended). Thanks for the laugh, Chris. And . . . I’m sorry?

  4. Oh Chris, this is painful. But look at this way, you are preventing a lot of future unwanted pregnancy commando Village Pantry incidents.

  5. Oh yeah when we are young and stupid we do so many things that later in life we will look back at and think what the hell was wrong with me or what was I thinking or is that just me………………….

    • You are SO right Jo-Anne! My Offspring have heard so many stories of my acts of stupidity, but were shocked I’d never shared this one with them. Huh. Wonder why? *grin* Kinda the ultimate, “What was I thinking!?!”

  6. i’m with lynne – you win. funny, funny shit. i’m so happy you and kate did this! xxx

  7. OMG





  8. OMG..

    I feel so much better about my wardrobe malfunctions..

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