Just. Like. That.

I don’t have a skinny gene in me.  Thus, I don’t have a skinny jean on me.  Or in my closet. Or on my clothing “wish list”. Or… you get the idea.  And you know what? I’m okay with that. Some fashions are meant for some bodies and others are meant for other bodies.  Deep, huh?  My calves dictate the inability to wear anything less than a bell bottom pant.  True story.

I’ve been reading a bunch, around the blogosphere, about the power of investing in yourself – how you look and feel.  It’s gotten me thinking.  Dangerous, I know.  One of the best pieces of advice I ever received as a brand spankin’ new mama was to get up each day and shower.  Earth shattering news, for those of you who’ve been there done that, I’m well aware.  However, to those sweet women who are new to this Motherhood Road, I wanted to share it.  Feeling clean and “put-together” single-handedly held me together, emotionally, in those first few months of new motherhood.  Don’t misunderstand me, though, I was no fashion plate.  Oh no!  My mom jeans and I?  We were tight. Skin tight.  My yoga pants, however?  We were no longer friends. Those forgiving, flattering, wear-with-anything dear friends?  They were discarded like yesterday’s news.

And then blessing number two came along and I. Were. Tired.  My yoga pants and I?  We became inseparable again.  And some days, we were so inseparable that Sweetman begged me to go take a shower, for-the-love-of-all-that-needs-to-be-laundered, just so he could snag my yoga pants and throw them into the washing machine.  Yep – it got thatbad.

yoga

yoga (Photo credit: GO INTERACTIVE WELLNESS)

But, alas, every yoga pant has the harrowing moment where it’s owner wakes up and thinks, “HEY! These pants are for… YOGA!  And I don’t even do yoga!”. And the relationship is severed. Just. Like. That.

But all is not lost. Because, there also comes a day, not so long after, and sometimes altogether too long after, where the mama wakes up and declares, “I think I might just give that Yoga Thingy a try!”. Or that Zumba thingy. Or that, you know… Exercise thingy, a try.  And because I feel so good about what I’m doing in those yoga pants, I find that I don’t care that I’m running in for a quick errand in my old friends.  Or showing up at the bus stop in them, either. Like any good friend, they make me feel good about myself.

And lo and behold, we are Besties again.  Just. Like. That.

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