I have to get this off my chest, I’m guilty of committing a crime…a crime of fashion.
There used to be a time when getting dressed meant something to me, these days it’s more of a chore that I meet with the same gumption as brushing my teeth.
My closet is filled with cute tops, cozy sweaters and a variety of pants that I admit I still cannot squeeze my postpartum ass into, yet day to day I bore myself with two alternating outfits (if you can call them that) of black yoga pants and a t-shirt or grey sweat suit and t-shirt.
When did this become my staple you ask? When I became a SAHM that rarely gets seen by anyone besides my family and when spit up became an accessory, oh and did I mention my fat ass (sweatpants are of a forgiving nature when it comes to the waistline).
I long for an excuse to get dolled up…just to prove to myself that I am still capable of looking put together if nothing else. I do in fact have an outing coming up; it’s a casual event with close friends who surely don’t care how I dress (or perhaps they are planning to stage an intervention as we speak!) but if I start telling myself that casual doesn’t mean so comfortable you could sleep in it I might end up leaving the house with something that actually resembles clothing and not bed wear.
One day I hope that I will once again be the fashionista I used to be…until then I can only make one promise…no mom jeans!
The Fashion Fugger