By Erika Watts of Dorky Mom Doodles
Anyone who has stood in the checkout line at the grocery store has checked out one of those cringy magazines geared towards women a time or two. You know, the ones that have articles with titles such as 101 Ways To Please Him, Ten Alternatives To Anal Bleaching, or Eating Disorders Are A Problem, But Here Are 13 Ways To Lose Weight.
I imagine that a title similar to the one for this post has graced the cover of a crappy magazine or two. In magazine land, one’s bra choice might mean that they’re destined for a lifetime of solitude, or that they’re ready to let their inner tigress run free. Your bra choice could even tell you which actor from This Is Us you’re destined to end up with, if your paths ever cross. Bra choice is serious business in magazine land.
That’s not really the direction I’m going in here, though. Since my knowledge of all things feminine is pretty limited — I’m still puzzled over eyebrow pencils — I don’t have a lot of insight on what a silky red bra that opens in the front means in terms of your spirit animal. If it were a leopard print bra, I could make an educated guess, but for all other bra types, I’m at a loss.
There is one thing and one thing only that I’m certain my bra says about me, and that is where I’m at with my day. That isn’t very glamorous or exciting, but that’s the mom life. There comes a point in my day when I’m done. I won’t go out to the store for milk, I won’t run outside and jog to the mailbox or get anything out of the car, and I certainly won’t take a walk around the neighborhood. That point in my day is marked by The Removing of the Bra.
Nothing screams “freedom” quite like the feeling of releasing the girls from that prison of cotton and underwire. After a particularly trying day, that moment is almost as pleasurable as sinking into a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine. Almost.
Bra on? I’ll do things. I might be exhausted and not want to do things, but I’ll go out and do whatever needs to be done anyway.
Bra off? Send my husband out, or tell the kids “maybe tomorrow.”
When I reach that point in my day, whenever the kids ask for something — like going back to town for a treat or anything else that requires leaving the house — I always tell them that my bra is off. That’s all they need to hear to know that whatever they want isn’t happening as far as their mom is concerned.
See? Not happening.
And, no, I can’t put my bra back on once I’ve taken it off for the day. Doing so would cause the moon and stars to become misaligned, and that might just make one of those end times prophecies come true. That, or maybe I’m just so lazy that throwing a strap over each shoulder and reaching back to do the clasp is just too much. Either way, for the safety of all, it’s best I let sleeping bras lie.
Recently my three-year-old approached me about retrieving a toy for her. After telling me that her Daniel Tiger toy was in the car, she asked, “Is your bra on, Mommy?”
This was a bigger moment than when she finally went to the potty on her own — she had mastered the bra code. That deserves its place on the milestone chart just as much as being able to grasp a crayon does.
Now if I could just get her to understand that “lights out” actually means “go to sleep” and not “ask for ten drinks of water, a snack, an extra stuffie, and three nightlights.”
About the Author
Erika Watts is a SAHM to two kids. When she isn’t busy with the typical mom stuff (soccer, changing diapers, and refereeing shouting matches), she enjoys Netflix binges, reading, and creating bad doodles for her blog. Her blog is Dorky Mom Doodles, and you can find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.