fashionally challenged

Here's what a total dork I am. Last week, when it seemed spring had finally arrived (oh, blessed spring! How I have missed you!) and I had the luxury of a kidless couple of hours, I went to run some errands. My wardrobe is pitiful. It's not as if the errands were anything exciting, say, a Kentucky Derby party or a lunch meeting with Obama....just a trip to the grocery store and the car wash. (exciting life I lead, no?)

Granted, most of my "spring wardrobe" has been boxed up and sitting in the crawlspace for the better part of three years (in the past three spring/summer seasons I was pregnant/postpartum or too busy chasing a one-year old and too freaked out about everything to care what I was wearing...and then pregnant/postpartum again)

So I found myself sauntering through the parking lot on the most beautiful spring day...blue sky, puffy white clouds, sunshine so bright you could smell it (well, I could anyway) and leaves practically exploding from the branches. I was a stunning vision of...brown. And not the brown that is the new black either. I'm talking about faded brown cords, and a long-sleeved brown maternity shirt that still passes as a loose fitting shirt. Yeah. I was lookin' good, people.



So began my quest for decent, well fitting clothes. For me. I've had some minimal issues with finding kids clothes (see this post) but nothing I can't deal with, given enough time and laundry detergent. It was time to exhume my spring wardrobe from the bowels of my house. A few hours after my lovelies were asleep, I found myself knee-deep in clothes I have had for years, some old favorites, and many, many "what was I thinking?" pieces. So I did a ton of laundry that night and realized that I am in deep doo-doo.



My cute summer shorts, which fit me great four years ago, don't particularly, shall we say, get along with my two time-post-postpartum body. My cute summer shirts, which used to fit, now aren't particularly thrilled to stretch across my rather-ahem-ample baby-feeding system.

So, at the very next kid-free opportunity, I hit the consignment stores hard. Three hours later I had a somewhat sizeable collection of passable clothes. I am not going to stop any cars with my incredible fashion sense, but at least I'm not wearing corduroy anymore!

Of course, the grand irony here is that it's back down to 50 degrees and rain. So I believe the fashion editors of the world might forgive my corduroy, should it emerge from my closet again...