Case in point: I have no clothes that fit me. Seriously, I have one pair of jeans that are a little baggy, and three tank tops that can somehow manage to cover my still-breastfeeding chest without riding up above my belly button. I’ve spent the last 7 months rotating those tank tops, and the 9 months before that wearing awkward maternity clothes that made me look like I was 40. The three years before that, my uniform was basically a shirt with my sorority’s letters on it, a pair of jeans and a pair of matching flip flops. So I haven’t really owned clothes that I had to pick out, try on and have fun with for almost five years. Yikes.
I guess it’s more that I had an epiphany from the experience. I took a
terrifying good, long glimpse in the mirror and realized my highlights are past my ears since they haven’t been touched in six months, my skin is going all wonky for the first time since I was 12 because I “don’t have time” to wash my face properly at night, and the manicure I started to give myself on Saturday is still on the buffing stage- on the first three fingers only. Not to mention I still have plenty of baby weight to drop, and I should probably have showered like, yesterday.
I’m all about inner beauty, and most of my friends are virtual now so they don’t see me (I have a bad case of the new-mom-shut-in syndrome) but there’s a point where it stops being cosmetic and becomes “letting yourself go”. I’m so not okay with that.
&That’s because my outward appearance is a reflection of my inner self. If I don’t take care of one, that means I’m not taking care of the other. &It’s true- my priorities lay with everything but me.
&This weekend? I am so going shopping.