A new Bra

All I wanted was a new Bra! Having had Seven kids, dealing with Yo-Yo weight, and breast feeding for 2 years I had been without a “new” bra for long enough.

Victoria Secret had a fashion show on TV and I just had to watch it. The bras and panties were pretty and they matched. They were the prettiest colors of the rainbow in hues of pink and with sparkles even. They looked to have had good elastic and appropriate closures. I could not find one safety pin holding it all together on any girl.

I had forgotton what it was like to have pretty, sexy, Secrets underneath my clothes, that my usual underwear weren’t really the “thongs” I had been trying to pass them off as. So the seed was planted and the narrow vision glasses went on. My mission was to have pretty, sexy, matching Secrets underneath my sweats and drooled on Old Navy, 4th of July 2000 t-shirt ASAP.

My plan was to go alone. I was set for the humiliation of some size 2, perky C-cup, college girl measuring and fitting me for my new Secrets. I mean at this point it has taken this long to get here, by the time I can get back she will be long gone and married with a few of her own kids and have forgotton about matching bras and panties too. She’ll be in the same damn boat. So I feel better already. Well as you know not all plans work.

My husband was sick, I could have just postponed but those narrow vision glasses were on. All I could see was matching Secrets. So I bundle up all 7 kids, strap the five in car seats and off we go.

We get there and I unload everyone. The triplets go in the tandem (front to back) stroller, the girls walk holding on to it and my bigger kids haul the rear for any possible runaways. We walk in and we
came for, my secrets await me in their pretty little bag and whats a little longer. So off the girls go and the big kids go get pizza and I just sit and watch the people stare at me and think I did it, I did it.

The girls come crying because they can’t seem to play nice with anyone but themselves and the big kids are done with all the crying and the triplets decide they have been in the stroller long enough so we pack it up to leave. I turn to put my coat on and hell literally breaks loose.

The middle triplet is so mad that he kicks the seat in front off the stroller frame and the front baby goes flying face first to the ground with the seat attached to and on top of him which in turn shifts the weight of the entire stroller and makes it fall backwards with the other two triplets feet pointing in the air. The screams are heart peircing.

I throw my pop down and it splatters all over the people next to us, my oldest knocks over the left-over pizza which puts my husbands dinner sliding down the chair. The girls realize I am not looking and they make a run for the play center and my older son asks should he follow them. “Hello, YEAH!”

So I run over lift the baby whose face down up, use my foot to push the stroller down from the sky, attach him back on, and shove the binkies in their mouths. I take a moment and realize that every single person who couldn’t keep there hands off of us is now sitting with their mouth hanging open in shock, they can’t speak, they can’t move, their afraid.

The boys continue to scream, my daughter cleans up pepsi and goes to throw the pizza away and I say don’t, dad will never know we’ll wipe it off, hey I can’t make dinner after all this. My son brings the girls back and I bolt. I try to run as fast as I can manueaver that stroller.

I get home and everyone is better. Everyone gets a bath and goes to bed. I throw the pizza away because my husband is sick and no need to make it worse. I get the pink bag out and with anticipated excitement I begin to look at my pretty, matching Secrets. However, as I look I see only cream and black and I am disappointed. No pretty rainbow hues of color. But that’s okay because they are the right size and they match. That’s way better than where I was in the beginning. But no wait…, the bras are 2 different sizes and the panties are x-small.

Why? Why?

I laugh. I laugh so hard that I cry. I put it all back in the bag and I search for candy. I can only find pixie sticks from Halloween. I inhale them while I cry and laugh. I realize I’m kidding myself, that the pretty, matching bras and panties are the reason I’m in this mess to begin with.

I decide that those gray, safety pinned, thread bare underwear are all I can handle. Heck, the only thing that really matters is that they are clean in case I’m ever in an accident. Right?

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