By Danielle Dayney
Today I literally mommed so hard I smelled like corn chips.
I was in the middle of some deep, dreamless sleep, drooling like a puppy onto my Egyptian cotton sheets when my kid startled me awake by tapping me on the temple.
“Mommy. I neeeeeed breakfast right now,” she said. I looked at the clock. I slept in again. Crap.
“Okay, okay,” I said groggily, swatting away her hand. “I’m up.” I stumbled down the stairs with one eye opened, served microwaved mini-pancakes for breakfast, and choked down day-old coffee. Once I was adequately caffeinated, the late-start morning routine looked like a circus on speed. Little people were running half-naked, dogs were dancing on their hind legs, waiting for morsels of food and attention, husband was walking a tightrope between all the living things, trying not to get syrup or slobber on his freshly pressed suit, and I was the acclaimed ring mistress at the center of it all.
At that point, I could feel the underneath of my arms moisten. Yes. I said moisten.
After my husband and oldest child headed off for the day, the toddler and I meticulously built a six-foot-tall rainbow Lego tower. Well, she watched and chewed on some Legos while I built. Then my half-blind Beagle knocked it over and the toddler cried, so I quickly built it again.
My pits were no longer only moist, but the underarms of my shirt were sticky, too.
Then I watched an episode of Shameless during the toddler’s nap while elliptical-ling. Yep. I multitasked the shtuff out of my kid-free time. BOOM. I washed the dishes without breaking any (a feat any day with my butterfingers), mopped the floor whilst calmly shooing the dogs to stay away (thanks to my stress-relieving kava tea), and did two loads of laundry. That’s washed, dried, folded, and placed in a basket until further notice. I don’t bother putting it away, because that, my friend, is a total waste of time.
Sweat was sticking to that…place. You know the one, ladies.
After that, I chased my oversized Double Doodle past two houses, and three acres, down the street in the pouring rain (because it always rains after I mop). The dog, a muddy mess, was chasing an elderly neighbor with a cute little fur-ball of a pup. They were wearing matching rain coats, for God’s sake. I knew he only wanted to play, but their faces were all twisted in terror so I figured it would be best to rein him in before he tackled the frightened pair in a puddle.
When the toddler woke, I corralled my dogs into their kennel, rushed my oldest daughter to dance practice, and shimmied her sweaty legs into tights in the ‘cozy’ bathroom stall.
That is precisely when I noticed the unpleasant smell coming from under my arms – I forgot deodorant.
I know what you’re thinking, but seriously I wasn’t even embarrassed. I had done enough for the day. If the worst thing I did was forget some personal hygiene, then I’m pretty sure I was momming like a master.
I smelled like corn chips and owned that shit like Mary Catherine Gallagher – superstar! I wore my stink like a Girl Scout badge, or a Supermom cape – with pride. I talked with my hands flailing in the air like those inflatable tube people at the car dealers. I let my stench fill that tiny closet of a room with moms and dads piled in like tuna in a can.
“I forgot deodorant, guys,” I said. “My bad. I was in mom-mode.” Every adult shrugged. They knew. They got it. They had likely been there before, too.
This post was originally published on danielledayney.com
About the Author
Danielle Dayney is a freelance writer and personal blogger living in Fredericksburg, VA. Her writing has been published on Sammiches & Psych Meds, BlogHer, and The Mighty, plus featured on the women’s and parents’ sections of The Huffington Post. In addition, she’s been in the top three for various essays and micro essays on Yeah Write and this year, she won a Voices of the Year award at the BlogHer conference. You can find her blog at danielledayney.com and on Twitter and Facebook.