Spit up on my sweatshirt

I get spit up on,... every day. Not just once a day, ... consecutively and consistently through out the day. So, I dress accordingly. I live most of my day in the scrub-dubbiest of clothes that I own, hair slung back in a ponytail, and layered shirts, so I can peel one off after it's been marked with cottage-cheese chunks. I really despise the stereo-type of "mother of four"- but I can't get around it. There's no point buying great clothes only to ruin them. So, I'm just embracing this season of bodily functions and fluids and not even glancing in the rear view mirror of trendy-days. My day will come, and a few days inbetween where I clean up real nice-like. But, ... just putting it out there; it's a pointless pressure for me to look great all the time. Blah. And if you're reading this and you have kids, ... you shouldn't either. Your day will come. Until then, enjoy all the messiness that life offers you in this season: baking with your kids, eating what you bake with your kids, painting projects, offering a hand to your teething baby- ... just let the drool coat your arm (it's probably as good for your skin as aloe)...