The Experience
I did it - it's over - and I am so glad. What you ask? The post-pregnancy going to the store to buy jeans experience.


Can we collectively groan?

I just know everyone hates that experience as much as I do. And if you don't because Whammo! you fit back into your pre-pregnancy clothes immediately, then ssshhhhh I don't want to hear it. I might throw up a little.

I took myself to Plato's closet, which is where I buy nearly all of my clothes. If you don't have this store, I feel for you. It's totally awesome. I have so much fun (usually) shopping when I go there.

There I stood, in front of the racks and racks of jeans and wondered... what size am I? I know I'm not even close to the size I was pre-pregnancy - I am realistic like that - so what the heck size am I? I have these wide hips that haven't settled back into place and are throwing me way off.
Finally I guessed a size and dove into the hundreds of pairs of jeans trying to find a style I liked. The kind with sparkles, or studs, bleach or appropriately places tears was what I was looking for.... stop laughing! I like jeans with character and interest. Like everyone else I'm loving the dark wash trouser, but boooooring! And so grown up! I have nice normal jeans for the occasions that call for that, but for everyday... give me some sparkle!

I must add that normally I abhor any spandex in my jean - I loathe it with tremendous amounts of loathe. But in the post-pregnancy jean finding experience, it is a good, good thing. Give me a little bit of stretch, baby!

I don't even know how many times I made the trek into the dressing room, but it was a whole lot. I did my best to not let myself get depressed. My highly scientific approach was making faces at myself in the mirror every time a pair didn't fit. Doing that would make me giggle and I'd move on to the next pair. I kind of wish I had brought someone with me so we could've laughed together. Oh well, I was the crazy giggling woman in the big dressing room on the end.

I eventually, after arm loads and arm loads of jeans, found a pair. I'm positive the girls whose job it was to put the refused clothes away breathed a sigh of relief. I was keeping them busy! One pair of jeans was all I bought; a boring dark wash jean, but it felt like victory to me.

Next time, let's hope there will be much less face making in the mirror.

That poor mirror. It will probably never be the same.
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