This morning, I came out of the bathroom after my shower to find Lucy running at me, spinning around for me to tie the sash of her dress. I kissed her on the head and she followed me into my room to watch me get dressed, as she often does.
Once all my clothes were off, I heard Coen calling from upstairs. "Mamma, can you come?"
I laughed. "I can't!"
Lucy yelled up to him "She can't. She's NAKE!"
(My kids love to shorten words, thus naked becomes nake)
"Where are my new socks?!" Coen yelled back.
Honestly. How parenthood suddenly makes you the gatekeeper of people's socks is beyond me!
"I don't know honey! If there aren't any up there--"
Here, Tad steps in. All three of us were shouting. Coen from his room all the way upstairs and me from mine, all the way down, not to mention, still trying to get dressed. He holds his hand up as if to say 'I'll take care of this'
"Coen!" He yells up the stairs. "If there aren't any up there, they're probably all in the wash!"
Meanwhile, Lucy is playing Patty Cake on my behind.
Seriously. Here I am just trying to get dressed after the shower and I have one child screaming at me for socks and another Patty-Caking my backside!
"Mommy?" Lucy says. "Why is your butt so wibbly?"
Let us just stop here. First of all, she is accosting me in the privacy of my own room. Secondly, she just has to use a made-up word that is way too onomatopoetically accurate. Oh the humanity!
But you know what, I made it through my own terrible body image years of high school and college. I lived in Europe and suddenly found comfort in my own body through the saunas of Estonia. I am healthy. So my kid thinks my butt is wibbly. So WHAT?!
So I answered. "Lucy, my butt is wibbly because I have had two children and I have a lot more skin than I used to."
She skipped off to join Coen (now, much to his chagrin, in old socks) at the breakfast table. Ahh, parenthood.