I don't really care whose jeans they are, I just wish something would fit.
I love shopping. It's no secret. It's an addiction. One that I'm not interested in treating, although I should probably consider seeking help now that I have no job. Each bedroom in our house is blessed with a gigantic double closet and each of them is filled with mine or my husband's clothing. Filled. Like literally no space is left. Leaving our child to only have clothing that fits folded in his dresser, or just be naked. Because sorry kid, mom needs all of those 75 puffer vests and 4,000 gingham button downs. Even though I wear none of them, because they still don't fit and my current wardrobe consists of the same 5 items or whatever I found laying on the couch this morning. When we have another kid, we are seriously in trouble.
This problem persists even though I barely bought anything new while I was pregnant. Buying my old size just made me sad, and buying any other size seemed kind of like a waste. If my goal was to get back into my old clothes, why would I spend a lot of money on something that would eventually be too big on me. But then reality sets in, and you realize you don't just magically bounce back into your old size. It takes work and dedication. And it's impossibly hard. If I could just figure out how to lose the rest of the weight, I could go shopping in my own closet and everything would be new again! Because I haven't seen those clothes in almost 2 years. But alas, I now have a bunch of clothes in a million sizes, no where to put them all, and somehow still nothing to wear.
So began the struggle of dressing post-pregnancy.
Over the last year since Nathan was born, I've lost 16 pounds on Weight Watchers, and then stalled about 10 pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight. By stalled I actually mean I stopped following the program. They say those last 10 pounds are the hardest. The birthday cake and summer ice cream didn't help. Also I just ate an entire bag of cinnamon sugar pita chips, so I suck. I’m way past maternity clothes, even though I long for their stretchy elastic waistbands that pulled up to my chest. But I’m still nowhere near fitting back into my old clothes. My mom also joined Weight Watchers, but way before me and had already lost a significant amount of weight, necessitating an entirely new wardrobe. What to do with your old clothes? Give them to your overweight postpartum daughter who has nothing to wear.
I literally now own Mom jeans.
At a wedding early in the summer, the father of a friend of ours told me I looked like a mom. At first I was taken aback. I supposed he was being funny, but what did that mean? Should I be insulted? Honored? I had just squeezed myself into this J. Crew dress only 1 size bigger than my pre-pregnancy size (thanks, Spanx!) and I thought I looked damn good! A mom? I look like a mom? Maybe a MILF! When I told my husband, he simply said, but you are a mom. And so it’s true. I am a mom and most days I do in fact apparently now look like a mom. My mom...