Dearest Darlingest Mom Romper,

God only knows what I’d be without you, dear mom romper.  You are the sunshine of my life.  When I’m at the playground with the kids, you are there, with your trusty, pockets and your firm, beautiful inability to ever cut into my waist as I bend down to help a child up from a fall, or a crouch down to pick up a dropped sippy cup.  When I’m running after a kid, you keep me looking fresh and cool. You are effortless! You make my life so! Much! Easier!  

Look, mom romper.  People made fun of you.  They said oh, rompers, what next, grown adults wearing footie pajamas (SPOILER ALERT they’re great too!)?  But just like with a zillion other things, those haters are wrong. They know nothing of the need to constantly bend down to pick up the tossed pacifier, the far-flung stuffed animal or lovie, the dropped cheerio wonderland underneath the restaurant chair (which, by the way, picking up that kind of mess isn’t always necessary but it’s just polite to waitstaff if you can).  People who mock a mom romper don’t understand what it’s like to back-carry a child when the carrier is slooooowly pushing down juuuust at the waistband of your shorts. The mom romper makes that not a thing, ever.  

You are breezy.

You are easy.

You are cool as ice cream.

You are an orange creamsicle dream.

Mom romper, you are who I would take as my prom date, if I could go back in time and do it all over again (JUST KIDDING JUST KIDDING GET ME FAR FAR AWAY FROM HIGH SCHOOL THANK YOU PLEASE).

*ahem*

We don’t deserve you, oh beautiful mom rompers.  And yet, you deign to grace our bodies with your perfection just the same.  

MUAH.

Love,

Hayley