on fashion and motherhood

some thoughts

she looks cuter in my latest TRR find than I ever will.

There’s really nothing I love more than being my daughter’s mom. It’s the biggest privilege of my life, and something I never take for granted. It’s also exhausting and hard and I have a scar on my lower abdomen that will never go away. Therapy has taught me that all of this can be true at the same time.

My first pregnancy was a literal shock to my system. The nausea overtook my body and I was bedridden my entire first trimester. I was 28 and didn’t have a single ‘mom friend’ except my own mom, who I called the day after I took my positive test because I felt absolutely clueless.

Labor and delivery was an absolute nightmare, save for the larger fact that my daughter and I are both alive and her NICU stay was only 24 hours. She was born during football season, meaning my husband still had to work and occasionally travel. During his first trip back, I found out one of my closest friends had committed suicide. I had never felt so sad and alone. I cried when my daughter cried, wiping my tears with a burp cloth and feeling absolutely helpless.

When we went to our first mommy and me class, I just assumed it was an occasion to get out of the house and wear something other than sweats. I didn’t own an actual diaper bag and had never heard of a nap schedule. My first class was filled with women who shared beautiful birth stories with their boobs out, seamlessly feeing their babies and I literally broke into a sweat fumbling with the formula dispenser and thinking about how I would condense all the things that went wrong during my daughter’s birth so as not to overtake the 30 minutes we had left.

In short, I was a f%cking mess those first few months.

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Motherhood did get easier. I grew into it- kind of like a baby giraffe when they’re awkwardly learning how to use their long legs. I now dispense advice to my own best friend with a newborn, something 29-year old new mom me would never believe. And here I am absolutely elated to have another child, 2.5 years later.

As far as how I get dressed, my style has changed significantly since having my daughter. I’m not sure if it was entering a new decade or motherhood, probably a bit of both. I don’t have time for trial and error like I did in my 20’s. I feel more confident when I shop. I know what I want and what my closet needs. I’ve sold a lot of my pre-pregnancy clothes and carefully purchased some really wonderful things that make me smile every time I pull them out. I’ve bookmarked more special pieces I’d like to purchase once I’m no longer pregnant.

But….in the meantime…..OH MY GOD. Do I miss my wardrobe! I actually feel like a monster saying that but it’s so true. I think of everything as an occasion to wear something I love - grocery runs, walking my dogs, etc. Getting dressed brings me joy. Fashion brings me joy. It’s an escape. It’s a form of self-expression. It’s happiness. And boy does it suck when you have to put 90% of the wardrobe you’ve curated in storage for so long.

I resolved to still dress as much like myself as possible during pregnancy #2. and I’ve really tried. I’ve also accepted defeat. I look like a discarded American Girl Doll in those floral frocks everyone else seems to love. I can’t recall the last time I bought a pair of pants that didn't have an elastic waistband. I miss clothes that have zippers and aren’t mostly cotton. And I’m fully aware that by the time I can wear my old jeans again I may be too sleep deprived to fully appreciate it.

Again, I feel guilty for being so frustrated by this. Am I lucky to be experiencing a healthy pregnancy? Of course! Do I think about how much I miss my vintage Prada dress when I’m looking at my baby’s cute little feet kick on the ultrasound machine? Not at all.

I think so much of my guilt stems from the fact that, as women, we are constantly reminded that being moms and martyrs and sacrificing mind, body, and spirit is our purpose and we are selfish a$$holes if we dare to think or act otherwise. So, who the hell am I to dare complain that I miss my high waisted pants and fitted tops and dresses while I am growing a little tiny human? How silly!!! Except it’s not.

I went to school for fashion and made a career out of it for the last decade. It’s part of my identity- so of course being unable to participate the way I’m used to is upsetting sometimes. I used to run late because I couldn’t decide what to wear and now I run late because I have to find something that fits over my ever-expanding baby bump.

Anyway, I have no idea what my body will feel like once my journey of carrying children is complete. Once I’m a mom of two, I am sure that this will seem like a small blip on the radar. I’ll probably be mad at myself for writing this instead of napping. And really, I would do anything to give my daughter a sibling relationship similar to the bond that my sister and I share. I just hope my clothes will be happy as I am to reunite.

XO, Liz