Frumpy Mama

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Somehow it has happened. I never wanted this to happen, and I swore up and down that it never would. I vowed to be the well-dressed, sophisticated mama, with matching accessories and interesting things to say. But it happened anyway. Despite my best efforts, I’ve become a frumpy mama.

Before I had my daughter, I wore interesting clothes – even a VARIETY of interesting clothes. They weren’t necessarily expensive or even name brand, but they were put together in an interesting fashion. I even wore earrings (gasp!) and sometimes bracelets. I had a diverse selection of shoes and wore them all. I was equal-opportunity shoe wearer.

When I envisioned my life with a child, I saw myself as being that mother who looks like she has it together. You know the one – she’s always behind you in line at Starbucks as you wrestle your purse, your child and manage to dump cream all over your clothes. She’s got a designer handbag, is wearing those pointy-toed, high-heeled shoes, and her child is quietly standing there, holding her own designer handbag. Now it’s not like I wanted to be quite so precocious – I don’t need name brand – but I wanted to be “put-together.” Well, let’s be honest, I didn’t even need that. Mostly, I just didn’t want to be the one dumping half and half all over myself in public.

Immediately after I had the baby, I felt saggy and flabby and all the normal stuff. I went to Old Navy and purchased a new wardrobe that would cover the flab and still managed to somewhat meet my criteria of interesting. But after several months, I was a size or two smaller and the budget didn’t permit excessive shopping. So I bought a couple pairs of jeans and several shirts that were semi-decent and settled on those.

Now here we are, 14 months after baby and I’m still a little flabbier than I had hoped to be, but this is life. But the problem is that I still only have a couple pairs of jeans and a few shirts that I actually feel comfortable in. (See how now it’s about “comfort” and not so much about “fashion?”) I’ve tried some of my clothes from “before baby,” but the vast majority are either too short or too low-rise or too something-or-other. So every day, I am destined to put on any combination of the old tried and true. (Hmmm…brown shirt with jeans or black turtleneck with green khakis?)

Bottom line is that I’m getting tired of the same clothes; tired of feeling unstylish (is that a word?); tired of being the one dumping cream all over myself. But one good thing is that this has given me a better understanding of my mother and her wardrobe issues. And it’s only clothes after all.


write by diaz

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