After standing in front of the armoire that passes for our closet for several minutes this morning, rejecting everything I could possibly wear because I have been wearing it for three months now in a never-ending and boring rotation of a very limited wardrobe, I pulled out a pair of jeans I have not worn since before I embarked on this amazing and very plumpifying adventure of gestation.
Wow. How's THAT for a first sentence?
I actually attempted to put those jeans on about a month after Cubby was born and . . . HAAAAA. The jeans, I am pretty sure, snorted rudely when I attempted to pull them on. As I recall, they didn't even really get pulled all the way UP, forget getting buttoned. You know those kind of jeans that are not low rise and not stretchy and therefore not at ALL forgiving of any fluctuations in body shape? Those are these jeans. And my one-month postpartum shape was apparently somewhat changed from my prepartum shape. IMAGINE THAT.
However! This morning I pulled those jeans out, pulled them on, and went on my merry way. Which means that everything in my wardrobe will now fit! Except for all the tops, because my top remains in a greatly expanded state of nursing that prohibits the use of any pre-baby shirt. Dammit.
I think I have reached Code Red with the tomatoes. Time to haul the jars up from the cellar, bust out the canner, and sharpen my knives. Let the Canning Madness begin.