Clean pants are overrated.

I used to have clean pants.   Unless my clumsy ass spilled something on myself (which I do quite often, and since the girls were smaller before I had the happinesses, it all went to  my pants).  Now, rarely do I have clean pants.

Inevitably, a little hand will rest on my knee or thigh, a little hand that just ate a cereal bar, or banana, or yogurt, or a cookie.  And little hand will leave a piece of whatever that was for me, right there on my pants.  And you know what?  I don't care.

If people tell me there's something on my pants, I am proud.  Proud because the something is there because I have two amazing, wonderful, adorable children.  I don't care if people think I'm not put together, or I am sloppy.  Because during the day, I look down, and see that spot, and I smile.  Because I remember the little hand that was in that spot earlier that day, just wanting to be close to Mommy.

Sometimes, I get drooled on.  Or spit up on.  Sometimes the spit up does require a change of shirt.  Depending on the amount of spit up, and well, the smell.  But if it's a small bit I can wipe off, I don't change.  And I don't care. Because again, that all comes with the kick ass job of being a Mommy.

So clean pants, I might see you again someday, when the kids are older, when they don't need to be close to Mommy as often.  But to be honest, I'd give up clean pants forever if it meant every day I had a little hand on my leg.