|Why yes, I do unpack in black and white|
|This picture has absolutely nothing to do with my quick takes, but I couldn’t find a good picture and then I stumbled upon this one and it’s way too awesome not to share with you|
Once my clothes were unpacked I was actually pretty horrified. The hanging clothes took up two halves of two racks, the sweaters and sweatshirts took up one entire length of the closet, and my workout pants, yoga pants, t-shirts, and unmentionables took up an entire bureau.
The Thing Is
3/4 of those clothes don’t fit me. A very, very small number are too big. Those make up my “Postpartum Chic” wardrobe, which also doubles as the “Post-Holiday Shame” wardrobe.
About a quarter of them fit quite well, some slightly too loose, some slightly too snug, right now. Another quarter are between one and two sizes too small. This is my “Where I Should Be, or Close Enough” wardrobe, which I know I actually have the physical capability to get to, since that has been my primary wardrobe for exactly one six-month period post-Sienna and exactly one six-month period post-Charlotte.
And then there’s my small stockpile of “Post-Mono” clothes, on the off chance that I’m lucky enough to get that particular ailment. Most of these happen to be leftover favorites from high school or clothes that once fit which I shrunk with my spectacular laundry skills, but which looked so cute in miniature that I couldn’t bear to part with them.
You can’t say I’m not prepared for everything.
|Aren’t we all?|
I felt pretty ashamed once it was all put away. I kept thinking of Betty Duffy’s post about having things for a live she doesn’t lead. That isn’t really true of me anywhere but the closet. My kitchen things are carefully chosen and well-worn. We have too many books, but that’s not a bad thing, and anyway I might remember how to read soon. Otherwise, we don’t have much in the way of possessions. No TV, flatscreen or otherwise. No Wii, though I’d love one if the Ogre wasn’t such a curmudgeon. No stereo system, no blu-ray player, not even a couch or a coffee table. (Cause we’re poor, not because we’re particularly ascetic.)
But my closet is shameful. And I am ashamed of it. So I’ve decided to give myself one year to lose some weight, provided no new little minion takes root, and at the end of the year, whatever doesn’t fit, I’ll get rid of.
(Um, I mean whatever is too small. The Postpartum Chic wardrobe is essential to my mental health and well-being. You know what I mean.)
I feel good about this resolution.
If You Recall, Though,
Last year I resolved to be more temperate, but by November I was a raging alcoholic. So we’ll see what happens. Maybe I’ll end up adding a whole new section to my wardrobe. I could go even fatter and get a “Dunlap Wardrobe”
|for when my stomach dun laps over my jeans|
or I could swing the stick the other way and purchase a “Post-Tapeworm Wardrobe”
|for when desperation drives me to a new low.|
Or not. Anyone wanna take bets?
Speaking of Resolutions, Though,
I have a blogging resolution that I simply must keep because it’s driving me to distraction.
I have got to organize my blog.
It is a hot mess. The tags, where they exist, are way too specific and random. You can’t search for anything, not even by tag, because 99% of my posts are unlabelled. I really get frustrated when I go to new blogs and want to learn more about the person by searching, say, “family” or “motherhood” or “janis joplin” (true story) and nothing is labelled or the labels are tangential at best. It doesn’t make for good blog reading.
So I’m going to swallow the bitter pill and organize this here disaster of a blog. Maybe I’ll give it a makeover in the process, too. You never know.
Happy Epiphany! Go and see Jen for more quick takes!