Defiance

I have this new blue shirt that I really like and I just got a couple of weeks ago. I wore it once and then when I got it out of the laundry, there was this stain on the sleeve. I can't figure out where in the world it came from. I keep wearing it despite the fact that there is this stain on it (it's a really great stain that my sister saw and asked if I had given myself a shot in the arm and then bled on my shirt--looks just like I did that, but I didn't). I think it's that defiant part of me that just doesn't want to admit that there is a stain on my new shirt. It's the same defiant part that refused to change my clothes after Owen dripped syrup on my shirt yesterday (I did attempt to wash it off, but it didn't work), or that same part that refused to change clothes after the baby spit-up on me or the toddler snotted my shoulder with her runny nose when I picked her up and held her. In the end, I think it's just me not wanting to allow motherhood to force me to change my wardrobe multiple times a day because the routine of it all happens to have messy side effects. Maybe it's my way of trying to appreciate the really great things about motherhood while ignoring the slight drawbacks. I'd like to think that's true.