Getting dressed today, I decided that I am not frumpy and middle aged—I am actually a secret agent. While the acute lack of good clothes is an effective part of my disguise, having a baby is probably the most fiendishly convincing component of my ruse. Luckily Donovan, or Operative 7 as I like to call him, is fully comprised of the situation. I began his secret education early, ensuring that he can spend all day in daycare listening to the worst ever Christian children’s music and no one will ever know that, really, he and his Mom listen to Swans together before bedtime.
I must protect this fragile secret life of ours and if that means none of my socks can match any of my other clothes, so be it.