(January 18, 2012)Around week ten my wardrobe became a problem. Deciding what to wear to work became less of a decision based on preference and more dependent on what would actually button. My previous "big girl" pants were now fitting snugly. My expanding chest (which needed no help to begin with) was difficult to contain in my normal tops.
As I would stand in front of my closet, getting increasingly frustrated that what I wanted to wear was not a possibility, I decided the only option was to put the too tight clothes in the basement. Husband brought me a large plastic bin and left me to the task.
It was more emotional than I had anticipated. (Or maybe I'm just more emotional in general.) I felt the need to have private goodbye conversations with various pieces. My favorite going out jeans, party dresses, work pants and finally, the short skirts. The skirts were particularly hard. Since I'm knocking on forty, the skirts had limited shelf life anyway. But throw a pregnancy on top and by the time I lose the weight (hopefully lose the weight) the ship will have most likely sailed unless I want to end up on What Not To Wear.
Husband checked in to find me longingly staring at the full bin.
"What is this?" he said. "The bin of broken dreams?"
"I was thinking the long goodbye, but broken dreams is better," I said.
Then I laughed until I realized laughing makes pants even tighter. So I switched to smirking. There will be much more smirking until August 13.
Comments
Post a Comment