Thursday night, I realized something slightly horrifying. My children are not the only ones emotionally attached to character onesies.

For years, I judged them lovingly. Hugsy the Lion. Unicorn Lynnlee. Tiny humans waddling around this house dressed like magical woodland creatures with fruit snacks in their pockets and zero interest in normal clothing. But they always looked so comfortable. So safe. So completely themselves in those costumes.

Meanwhile I’d be downstairs in my expensive Ugg robe looking like someone’s chain-smoking great aunt named Brenda that says things like, “Men ain’t worth it, sweetheart,” while stealing twenty dollars from your purse during a goodbye hug.

Some women look effortlessly beautiful in robes. I look like I should be holding a menthol cigarette and warning people about government surveillance. So naturally, instead of therapy, I bought two adult onesies. One was Stitch because the little kids thought it was adorable. The other was a giant black crow because I thought it would be funny to terrorize Kris.

And listen… it worked. You have to understand that our marriage has survived ten kids, financial stress, autism, surgeries, teenagers, toddlers, pets, school spirit weeks, and enough emotional trauma to qualify us for a group discount on counseling. At this point, romance looks different around here.

Some couples reconnect with date nights. I hide in household appliances. Years ago, the twins told Kris they needed help with laundry. That man opened the washer and found me folded inside like a demonic bath towel. I have stood silently behind him waiting for him to turn around. I have hidden in places no grown woman should physically fit into. I have waited until he was calm and emotionally vulnerable watching television just to suddenly sit upright beside him and yell “CAW CAW” directly into the darkness. The first time I did it, he nearly ascended into heaven. So obviously I kept doing it for eight years.

Now before somebody calls the adult version of CPS, understand this: We annoy each other professionally. We also love each other fiercely. I will know that man is completely wrong in an argument and still defend him publicly like my life depends on it… then privately punish him with two jump scares and psychological warfare. That’s marriage after forty. That’s romance after ten kids.
The pet wars may have ended because we ran out of space for animals… but unfortunately for Kris, he forgot birds exist. Checkmate.

The problem is the crow suit turned out to be unbelievably comfortable. Now I wear it the way emotionally stable people wear sweatpants. The little kids think it’s hilarious. The teenagers look traumatized because they remember Bat Mom from years ago. And Kris lives in a constant state of low-level confusion and fear. Exactly the way I like him.

Seriously though somewhere between the lion and the crow, I stopped caring what comfortable looked like. Apparently it looks like a large black bird terrorizing a man who chose this life voluntarily and keeps choosing it anyway