The Weekend. A wonderful time of adventure and fun for most families of young children, but not so on this particular Saturday. The familiar yet, grizzly scene unfolding in front of me was nothing I hadn’t seen before. Too much time in the house had my daughters trying to kill each other, and I was perilously close to loosing my sanity. When it starts to look like a scene out of Lord of The Flies, mother must intervene; it was time to get eff out of the house.
To the park! It was a crappy day for the park — cold and windy, definitely not mini-skirt weather — but they didn’t care; my will to live was precarious at this point, so I didn’t mind that they might freeze half to death. It was imperative that we leave the house immediately, so we began the process that all parents fear and loathe …
Getting Ready To Go.
This small sentence is so loaded with BS, I can’t even convey the horrors. There are a number of battles that one will encounter as they navigate this particular endeavor. You have the hair-brushing battle, the teeth brushing battle, the sunscreen battle, the food-packing battle, the mothereffing sock battle, the shoe battle, the buckling-in battle … I could go on for days, but these are the big b–ches of the group.
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The battles are a given for parents of small children, but in our house, there is an additional battle that is beyond insane. It. Is. EPIC. The Epic Undie Battle.
My 3-year-old hates underwear with a fiery passion and will lie right to my face about her panty status. When asked, the child will 100 percent of the time agree that yes, she does have her undies in tact. Quality control inspections typically yield a 90 percent failure rate with bare butt dominating the status report. When confronted, she will wail, she will run away, she will go boneless- anything to avoid the arduous process of putting two legs through two holes. We’re looking at a time suck of two-15 minutes. It’s painful; so very, very painful.
As a fellow underwear-hater, I empathize, and when she’s old enough to make that decision, she can let her lady balls loose … just a girl and her vulva, free from the constraints of fabric that’s hell bent on wedging into her asscrack. For now, she’s 3 and will wear the mothereffing underwear.
At long last we arrived at the park. I found a friend to chat with while the girls played on the giant playground. It was soon time for lunch so we all sat down on our little picnic blanket and I began to hand out the food. As I handed the 3-year-old her watermelon, I noticed her vulva. It was staring me right in the face, it was hanging out for all the world to see, just flapping in the wind. She’d been flashing her goods all over the playground and I was so busy chatting that I took zero notice of her escaped vagina.
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Holy f—. My mind began to race.
"Who saw her vulva as she climbed to top of the play structure?"
"How did her bare butt manage to go down the slide without a severe chaffing?"
"Did she leave butt residue on the swings? She’s not the best butt wiper."
And worst of all,
"Who saw me parenting the child with the exposed lady-bits? What were they thinking about me?"
I’m guessing the general thought would be, "What effed up parent lets their kid wear a skirt with no underwear to the goddamn playground?"
I wish I’d known sooner; who knows how many people saw my kid’s vagina that day in the park. Thankfully, I had a spare set of undies in the diaper bag, so we covered that s–t up real quick. With the disaster averted, my kid went back to playing and I slowly cleaned up our lunch with a heavy heart, reflecting on the situation and feeling like a real asshole parent.
Most days I’m horrified and ashamed of the ways I fall short ,but I take heart in the realization that as parents, we’re up against little masterminds, skilled in the arts of deception and persuasion. In reality, the epic battles present both parties with excellent opportunities for growth and development; parents will do their best to raise good people and kids will do their best to fulfill their needs without regard to anyone but themselves.
One day, it will all be worth it; it will click for them and they’ll understand that we weren’t such a—oles after all. Whether or not they’re wearing underwear at this pivotal point is unimportant; we will have all moved on battles that matter.
What's the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you on the playground?
Image via © iStock.com/Abeleao
About the Author: Jill is a seeker, writer and blurter of truth and has found her home in writing as it provides the space to do all three. Two little girls, a slew of animals and one husband create the space she calls home. From wildly comedic to tear-dripping serious, Jill's blogs at Totally Inappropriate Mom where her musings reflect her 'life-uncensored' philosophy, naughty humor and general inappropriateness. You can find her on Facebook and Twitter as well. She shared this post with The Stir as part of our tribute to moms for Mother's Day.
