I lost my bra.
In the space of a single night, which consisted of wandering the house in my pajamas, a few cups of tea, 4 bottles of water, some PS2 and a bit of internetting, I have managed to lose a fundamental piece of my daily equipment.
Once, this wouldn't be such a problem. A dark, heavy shirt and we were good to go. The girls were discreet and didn't step out in public, even after two children. Alas, three was definitely the charm.
I knew I was in trouble in my 13th week of pregnancy when I outgrew the second size upgrade. My cups, they overflowed. By the time Jacob was born, I rather resembled the Venus of Willendorf and if I heard one more comment about how fast Jacob was going to put on weight with THOSE things on the job, I was going to bounce them off someone's head and probably kill them.
Anyway. Over the last few months, they stepped down a bit but like Norma Desmond, they're still trying to cling to an image of glory. And without the proper equipment, it ain't happening. Sure, I could spend thousands of dollars and have 'em hauled back up into place but that's not for me. Besides, I've watched people in my life struggle with what was supposed to be a permanent surgical solution... did you know that implants can actually move around in your body? Yep. Nothing like discovering a year or two after expensive surgery that your implant decided it wanted a new zip code and managed to travel your muscle until it made a new home just outside your armpit.
Anyway... I'm sure I'm having another case of Momnesia and I probably put it neatly away somewhere that makes no sense at all. (I know I used to have a brain at one point in my life, even if actions such as marrying the ex suggest otherwise)
I guess now I do have to clean the house before I scare dogs and small children with spectacle of unfettered me.