An Ode to Maternity Clothes

Something magical happened this week. All of the stars aligned and my hormones and self-esteem peaked in perfect harmony with each other and I actually went…jeans shopping. I realized about 1 week in that I was not going to be one of the chosen few women who bounce back super quickly. You know the ones (Dr. Everything’s gonna be alright…). My name was not drawn in the weight-losing lottery and sadly they do not let you volunteer as tribute.

So I did the deed. I caved and bought the dreaded transition jeans. You know, the ones that you want to buy on sale or at Target because you *hopefully* won’t be in them for long, but you’re for dang sure not going to muffin-top it with your old jeans for months. (HAHA-as if they would even button at all HAHAHAHAHAHA).

So anyways. I hunted. And hunted. And hunted. I knew that if I hunted enough, the shopping fairies would grant me my wish of crazy-on-sale Gap jeans that would make my butt look fabulous and give me Suzanne Somer legs. Ok maybe not that last part. Maybe. Not.

Finally, 4 Gaps later I found them. 2 pairs of $15 jeans in my size, Which turned out to be 4 sizes up from normal. “Whatever it’s cool. I made a baby with my body. I shouldn’t feel bad. I’m totally fine with this.” *Silent tear.*

So today I am celebrating the fact that I am officially in 100% non-maternity clothes!

non maternity clothes

This celebration comes with a fair share of mourning, though. First of all, because I still have some righteous muffin top action EVEN IN MY 4 SIZES BIGGER JEANS, and secondly because my body no longer rests in the loving embrace that is expandable maternity clothes.

I miss you, elastic waistband, and your friend, the ruched t-shirt. You guys were so good to me in my time of need. You grew with my ever-enlarging belly and never made me feel fat. You had cute patterns and proved that stripes can work in your favor sometimes. You made me forget that I was eating like a horse and cut out the need to strip upon walking through the door to your house and immediately put on sweats. You made my dreams come true of never being expected to wear regular pants because your yoga pants are FANCY ENOUGH OK? You were so good to me, but like many great things, our relationship had to end. I’m with regular jeans now. Sure, I may go behind his back from time-to-time because your pull-up waistband is great for holding ALL OF THIS LOOSE SKIN in, but I have to ride that straight and narrow fashion line on the regular. Until next time (OH GOSH I STILL CAN’T THINK ABOUT A NEXT TIME), I’ll be missing you.

Love, Alex

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Clothes.

clothes

I know, I know. This has taken me entirely too long. I’ve had all of my 7 stuff saved as drafts forever, but I keep having new thoughts and ideas and aaaaah! I have a lot to say, ok?

Anyway.

Recap: The girls in my Community Group took Jen Hatmaker’s book 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess and did our own experiment. No, not the one she orchestrated with another book on making your own experiment, because apparently none of us though to check that. So we did the extra work and made our own. Do we get bonus points for that? No? Ok. Sorry for all the links.

Clothes was the second chapter that we tackled in our 7 experiment. I didn’t necessarily think it would be hard, I just thought it would be annoying and a giant hassle. Let’s look at her rules:

  • 7 articles of clothing total, for 1 month
  • Undergarments do not count.
  • 2 pairs of shoes count as 1 item of clothing (leaving you with 6 more to choose)

Our rules:

  • The exact same, but for 2 weeks instead of 4.

Thaaaaaat’s right people! We got brave on this one and played by the rules. I should clarify. When I say “We,” I mean the majority of us. There were exceptions to the rules in some cases. For instance, Jen Hatmaker is a writer and speaker, but otherwise, a mom who works from home. She had the freedom to wear the same thing over and over without worrying about having to look (too) professional. Heather is a counselor and Raven is a graphic designer, so they still limited themselves, but had to expand their wardrobe a bit for work-times.

This happened to be the same week when my kidneys decided that growing E Coli might be fun times, so they gave it a whirl. I was home sick with pyelonephritis for half of the first week and in the hospital for the other half. I tried very hard to wear the 7-sanctioned casual clothes while I was at the hospital, but clothes get dirty (weird huh?) and the idea of trying to explain in my drugged up mind what I could and couldn’t wear to someone else seemed cruel for both of us, so I gave in. I rocked it the second week though!

So remember when I said I thought it would be annoying and burdensome? It wasn’t (aside from the *minor* hiccup there at the beginning) AT ALL! It was actually pretty awesome.

No having to decide what to wear.

No pressure of accessories.

No feeling like my clothes didn’t look good on me.

Best of all: No one asking me “Didn’t you just wear that yesterday?”

Wait, Whaaaat? I’m serious! I thought that people would notice and tease me about wearing the same clothes over and over, but my ego was forced to take it down a notch because NO ONE CARED. Even at work. No one even seemed to notice.

I think that was the biggest lesson for me. I get so concerned with what other people think of me, and that binds me to a lot of my materialistic tendencies. I want people to think I’m cool. I want people to think I’ve got great style. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I want people to be jealous of me and what I have sometimes, as if that will make my insecurities magically go away.

I realized that if I were to sell all of my clothes and keep only my favorite ones, no one would give a tiny rat’s you-know-what. That is so freeing. It’s also so humbling. This realization kind of forces you to get off your high horse and pay attention more to things that matter and less to things that–try as we might–will not last.

Next up: Stress.

Have any of you done the 7 experiment? Or just sold a bunch of clothes and had a panic attack about it? Tell me Tell me!