Until I met my husband, I never wanted kids. I never wanted a wedding in the grand sense. We compromised: Elvis walked me down the aisle in Vegas, and I said I would think about kids. I did think about it and decided that at 30 it was time. Apparently my body had other notions, and, like all good things that come to those who wait, I had twins at 33. God has a sense of humor. I wanted one child. What I got were two girls. I knew then that my husband was in deep trouble. Girls tend to shop like their mothers. I am pretty sure he will need to get another job once they get a wee bit older.
When the husband and I met, it was less than love at first sight. I shocked his east coast sensibilities with the profusion of black dresses and black hair, funky six inch platform boots and leather coats. To this day he wears garanimals for adults, or what is better known as (insert international mall chain label here). Takes all the guess work out of the morning. He got used to dating a girl who didn’t shop at the mall and I got used to dating a frat boy. Go figure.
Like I said before, I love a good costume and that’s what dressing was like before kids. The work costume of pencil skirts and jackets meshed with the cropped pants, tight tee shirts and funky long coats. Six inch heels were not a problem. I liked the edginess of walking into a meeting and being six feet tall. I also liked that my clothes had a structure all their own. There was nothing baggy or boxy, no soft cottons or linens, no dresses without slips. Weight fluctuation was not an option. My after hours costumes varied from fishnets and short dresses with ridiculously high boots to short skirts and concert tees with vintage leather jackets and heels. I am pretty sure there was little to no casual costume.
Then came kids, two at once. There was that six month period after they arrived that I don’t remember so I have no idea what I dressed like. There is one picture where I had apparently bleached my hair platinum. Big mistake. Once some semblance of sanity arrived I discovered that I had nothing to wear. Literally since I had gotten pregnant at a size 2 and woke up a size ten. I had to rethink and repurchase my wardrobe. I don’t get a lot of sympathy from people. My husband does.
I couldn’t very well go back to the the pre-kids style. I needed to move. To bend down, lay down, sit down… generally be down. I needed to walk a stroller, chase a toy, carry babies. I was getting spit up on fairly regularly so silk was out of the question. So I started collecting. Shoes came first so I turned to Cydwoq for my every day shoes. Comfortable and funky. Next I had to evaluate what I could wear on a daily basis and decided on cropped and wide leg pants in basic colors (Mercer Trousers are some). I have about 50 black t-shirts, which may sound like too many but when one can go through five in an afternoon with a spitty baby, 50 is almost too few. Button down tops became the enemy, just not worth it. I figured I would get some great sweaters, jackets, and coats to throw over the tees. I kept my eclectic side and just pared down the tailoring. I’ve bought lots of dresses and frocks once the girls quit spitting up. I was amassing my new wardrobe. I was on a roll. I had purchased heels and some going out on the town clothes, I was ready to go. I was the cool mom, the well dressed mom who didn’t own khakis or wear yoga pants in public. Then I got pregnant again, because God has a sense of humor. I have two weeks and six days to go.