Janet’s not the only one with wardrobe malfunctions
I always say that once you have kids, you lose all modesty, or at least I did (read
death of my modesty ). That still doesn’t keep me from occasionally surprising myself with just how unembarrassed I am by what most would consider to be absolutely horrifyingly embarrassing. Most parents want to crawl into a hole somewhere when their kids misbehave or throw a tantrum in public because they worry they are being judged; not me. I know I’m being judged when my kids do this, I see the looks on all those self righteous people who act like their kids would never do that and they certainly didn’t act that way as a child, but I don’t care. I give those people the “oh blow it out your ass” look because I know that anyone who has ever been a parent has been in a similar situation and if they haven’t yet, they will be one day. So when my oldest child threw the nutty of all nutties the other day while dining at Chick-Fil-A (yes I know they are evil, seerage against the machine) I could care less about what all the judging gawkers thought of my parenting skills as I dealt with him and his behavior; that didn’t embarrass me. I wasn’t embarrassed the day earlier either, when I had an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.
Maybe malfunction isn’t the correct term to use. My wardrobe was functioning as it should, it was my child that caused the problem. We were in the observation room at my oldest son’s swim lesson when my middle son decided that he wanted to go swimming and ran off towards the pool door. I ran after him and picked him up to bring him back to the room. I was wearing a spaghetti strap dress with no bra under it because, well it is 100 million degrees here in the summer and I just couldn’t deal with more layers of clothes than absolutely necessary, plus I’d been home all afternoon nursing so it didn’t even occur to me to put one on before leaving the house. In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best decision because when I picked my son up, he pulled on the top of my dress. I brought him back to the room and put him in time out for running off and not listening. As I turned around to grab my phone and set the timer, my husband motioned for me to fix my top. When I looked down, there was my left breast hanging out in all it’s glory (did I mention I was right in front of the window to the pool). Being the unabashed person that I am, I pulled my top up, put Lefty back in her place, and went about my business. It wasn’t until I looked up at the faces of those around me (my husband’s included) that I realized I was the least embarrassed person in the room, and it was my breast.
I guess after dealing with some of the things that go along with being a mother, I’ve learn that anything can happen (and often does) and to just roll with the punches. I’ve got so many other things to worry about that I don’t have time to worry about what strangers think of me. Besides, if Miss Jackson can bounce back from a wardrobe malfunction, so can I.