Friday, March 13, 2009

Now, Where Was I...?

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring in shock and awe at a positive pregnancy test. I think that's probably the exact moment that my sense of style took a flying swan dive out the window. All consideration and regard for fashion - may you rest in peace. I was entering the world of "Mom jeans" and cotton...and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Even though you may not believe me right now, I really did used to care about what I looked like - I promise! In highschool, I used to scour the pages of "Seventeen" magazine, following the teen scene and learning about the newest trends. I used to adore shopping, and would battle my way through dressing rooms until I left the mall - victorious in my shopping conquest for the *cutest* new outfit. I would sit in front of the mirror testing out new hairstyles (for my frequently dyed hair) and mastering makeup application. I wouldn't dare leave the house without *at least* eyeliner, mascara, and a swipe of my newest shade/flavour of lipgloss. While my husband and I were dating, I even put in the effort to make sure I was wearing a matching bra and undie set, *just in case* he was going to see them (sorry, Mom - that may have been too much info for you!). My poor, naive little self had no idea what kind of trouble that matching bra and itty bitty little undies could cause..."mommyhood".

And then it all changed. I was exhausted. Sick. And ever expanding - in all directions. I just couldn't care less if I looked less than spectacular, because that's how I felt. I did enjoy shopping for maternity clothes - they're so adorable! But their price tags are not, and with a little peanut on the way I just couldn't afford to be trendy. As my wasteline grew...and grew...and grew...I was finding that I was needing to add to my wardrobe every few weeks. Until I found my new best friend, and the greatest invention known to woman (okay, aside from a good push-up bra) - elastic and drawstrings. Where have you been all my life?! At first, I resorted to wearing my "track pants" to work - I was in a bakery and spent my time either in the kitchen or behind the counter, so no one would see. I felt like I was committing such a horrible faux pas, and the fashion police were surely going to bust me any minute. But they were so comfy...almost liberating. Then I started to get more brave, and started wearing my new wardrobe to the grocery store, the bank, visiting family. Just in small doses, where only the "locals" would see me - afterall, most of these people wear their rubber boots and coveralls to town, how could I look out of place? But I kept getting more and more comfortable...too comfortable. Because money was still tight, I found myself buying dual-purpose clothes - clothes that were stretchy enough to be comfortable during pregnancy, but I could also wear after the baby arrived. I knew that I would still have some "babyweight", and the clothes would fit and be comfortable until I could get back in shape.
"Purple Shirt...Before"

Except that never happened. I never lost all the weight, and I have never stopped wearing the clothes. Right now my wardrobe consists of a few pairs of track pants, a handfull of stretchy cotton shirts, and 2 pairs of jeans - also of the stretch variety. Nursing bras aren't exactly sexy, but at least they are colour coordinated with my worn out "granny panties". I can honestly say that I can't remember the last time I bought something for a reason other than its "stretchability" - from somewhere other than WalMart, or Giant Tiger. When I leave the house, sometimes I've taken a minute to sketch a bit of eyeliner across my eyes - but usually not. I just went through my extensive make-up collection and filled the waste basket in the bathroom....if it wasn't expired, it was horribly out of fashion (can you remember the last time someone wore glitter?) When I get out of the shower, I put a bit of mousse in my hair to tame the frizzies, but my jewellery has been replaced by a hair elastic on my wrist, because I'll likely get sick of having my hair tugged on and tie it back. It's not that I don't care - I really do - I just don't have the time or energy.

"Purple Shirt...After"
*note the "perpetual ponytail" and lack of make-up*

There is a light at the end of the frumpy I'm losing weight, I'm gaining some of my confidence back. I want to look as good as I feel! I want to be me again - look out fashion sense, it's time for a ressurection! I've made myself a couple of promises - to reward myself as I reach my weightloss goals. When I reach my 10% weightloss goal - I'm going to get my hair coloured. I used to love being blonde, and I'm going to treat myself to some highlights! By a more colour from a box! When I reach my final weight goal, I'm going to go shopping - at the MALL - and buy myself a couple of new outfits. That make me look good and show off the new me - not because of what they can hide. I even bought myself a cute pair of pink rhinestone sunglasses to add to my new accessories - the future looks best through rose coloured glasses :)


  1. wow. . thats an interesting life story . .

  2. We're in this together sister! I love the idea of some professionally applied blonde for the 10% goal. I may borrow that idea from you. I enjoyed the change of going dark, but recently my beloved (and honest) aunt told me it was time to go back to blonde, the dark hair was making me look old.

    Yikes! I look old enough already, I don't need any help!

  3. Sounds like someone needs a trip to visit her sister in London, A: I know a great hairdresser who is phenomenal at highlights, b: There's lots of shopping, and who better to shop with than your fashion designer sister (face if, even you like what I wear now!)

  4. Ah! I can so relate to this! Especially when I was working, the clothing I was wearing was *atrocious*, to say the least. Ick ick ick. I plan on burning them at the earliest opportunity. Now my roots are growing out and I'm not seeing a trip to the stylist in the near future...

    Your makeover shall give me hope for light at the end of a very long tunnel!

    -- Nicole

    p.s. You're still a babe, btw.