I realized that what I had been no longer worked. This sense of ill-fitting wrongness was captured by the Official Brett shirt moreover I will buy this structured coats and blazers in my closet. Expensive. Textured. Tailored. They weren’t going to work for my baby. He needed something soft he could snuggle into. I needed jumpers. Those soft, colored sacks that hang loosely from the shoulders and end somewhere below the waist. And then what? I didn’t know how to wear jumpers. I hated jumpers in all their unstructured mess. Maybe I could wear dresses instead? Loose boho dresses with hats and sandals? I started to look online. I tried some from my wardrobe. But short dresses seemed awkward to wear at home when one is always bending down, and long voluminous ones are too cumbersome for domestic work and babies. I started to understand why mums wore activewear. I started to observe what the other joggers were wearing, the other walkers—the other mums. I saw a mum in a clothing store with a baby younger than mine looking impossibly trim. I went home and cried. I felt jealous. I was almost never jealous. I had always thought that whatever I wanted, whatever I needed, if I set my mind to it, I could do. And it usually worked. But the lumpy body wouldn’t shift and was completely incongruous with the clothes I had. Even the maternity clothes didn’t work anymore. They were all proportioned for a bulbous belly. But my belly was a series of soft rolls and my bulbous boobs made me feel like a pornstar.
Official Brett shirt, hoodie, tank top, sweater and long sleeve t-shirt
My super supportive and beautiful boyfriend was smart. He took me on a shopping spree to the Official Brett shirt moreover I will buy this local thrift store for Mother’s Day. He said I could buy whatever I wanted but the rules were that I had to think differently. I had to think like a mum. I headed to the jumpers section. He headed to the leggings section. And together we made two outfits I was happy with. Faux black leather leggings with a thin cable knit jumper in cream we would later call “Cassandra,” and a grey sweater with white stripes across the hips we would later call “Bianca.” My clothes were grey, white, and beige—boring. But they were okay and good for my baby. He snuggled into them. I don’t look like the old me anymore, but my baby now sleeps better at night, so the bags under my eyes have lightened. My skin is less pale. I know the difference between night and day, and theoretically I could wake up, dress, do my hair, and put on makeup, but the old me is broken. Those habits might come back. Or maybe they won’t.