In piles everywhere and somehow my eyes don’t see it: the laundry. I swear I’ll fold it tonight. The cloth diapers don’t help. And anyway, my clothes and I are no longer friends.
We bicker as I pull the jeans up and do squats to stretch them. We got in an outright fist fight the other night as I tried to pull together an outfit for my birthday dinner. The baby weight is gone, if you ask the scale. But the shape this body has taken is definitely not what it used to be. Ahem. Did you see me at 40 weeks pregnant?
My son is almost 2. That means I can wear real clothes again! But my closet has taken a real hit:
3 years ago ~ I was teaching yoga 6 days a week and wearing nothing but stretch pants.
2 years ago ~ All maternity.
1 year ago ~ Nursing tops and cheap clothes because this new body shape and size surely wouldn’t be forever. Right?
With a spirit of acceptance I spent last Saturday at Anthropologie, quizzing the girl in the dressing room. What belts work with this skirt? Can you bring me some pants to try? Yes I like color, but no, I don’t think mint green and red work together. What shoes should I wear? What do you do with the bottom of skinny pants and booties? Oh, tuck the pants IN?
Ok. I’ll take it.
It was not a bargain day.
But I felt amazing.
What a concept to not be squeezing into my old size. These clothes flatter and do not ask me to suck in and mold myself back in time.
This pile of laundry is going to turn into a bag for Goodwill.