Those Look Beautiful

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When I get upset about something, I clean. Last night was a cleaning night, but since I shouldn’t really be doing much of anything yet, I opted for my closet. It’s one of the things I thought about asking for help with.

You see, before getting pregnant, I was at my lifetime lowest weight for about 4 months. I thought it safe to rid my closet of everything size 14 and up, tucking the 12’s into a “Thanksgiving or Period” pile. Then, I got pregnant. With twins.

Weight-wise, all was good through January. Then cold set in. I got sick. I outgrew maternity clothes and got bigger ones. Then nothing that fit my waist fit my Twin Mama tummy and it was work from home or wear leggings and tunics. My clothes became one big pile of none of this fits or ever will again so ball it up and I completely ignored it for the last 8 weeks.

Welcome the need to go out in public. Mama kept wearing the leggings, but they are so worn that you can through them to my granny panties (another purchase because Victoria ain’t got nothing on this butt right now). None of my friends or family or husband tell me this though. I have to go to the big kid. You always go to the big kid for honest truth. She told me the exact shade of purple they were and it was clear I had to pack the leggings away.

So, cleaning my closet was a must. But unless I want to wear sweat pants or running pants (which brings me a severe level of grief) or maternity dress pants with boots (que Pittsburgh summer)…there is nothing in this (now clean) closet for me.

Ah, but wait. I move one more bag of hangers around and find them. A pair of regular jeans. They somehow survived the purge and have a number that is the legal age to smoke a cigarette but they slip on easily and don’t hurt my incision. This time, I don’t even need to go to the Big Kid. She’s been watching my frustration and she gives it to me straight.

Those look beautiful. I have the seal of approval and it doesn’t matter one bit that I am in a size that isn’t pre pregnancy. They look beautiful on my mom of four / four weeks post partum body and my daughter knew well enough to tell me it was all going to be okay…regardless of that number. I will be back to a smaller size in my own time, but for now, I can face the world knowing someone sees me as beautiful just the way I am. Sounds like we have taught her well.

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Mg Big Kid and Middle Sister

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