I’m wearing mostly khaki pants lately. I’ve learned they blend best with this stage:
This is the face of a baby with a runny nose.
It’s the face of a baby who wants to run around outside with all the big kids, get her hands and face in the dirt, and feed herself a snack like the rest of them.
And it’s the face of a baby who runs to my legs and wipes her face across them at least 50 times a day, usually clutching them behind my knees with dirty fingers.
I get dressed every morning hoping that my pants will make it for an hour or two, at least. I try, really I do. But soon they’re broken in and I give up the fight. After all, I do love having her run to me like this.
I’ve noticed in the past few weeks that the dirty spots are slowly getting higher, traveling up my legs to where I notice them sooner. And it dawned on me:
I am a walking growth chart.
The thought made me laugh. I’ve thought of many additional titles a mother can claim. You know the standard list: taxi driver, maid, cook, etc. I’d never thought of “walking growth chart” before, but it fits. And I know all too well that it will end. I have many years of clean pants ahead of me.
So I claim it joyfully. Three cheers for dirty pants!