Make it work

The babe and I have been sick all week. This has taught me two things

1. You do not get sick days when you have kids. You can say you're going to have a sick day from laundry, cooking, and showers but in the event of a blowout or some other catastrophe you'll be lucky if you get 2 out of 3.

2. Staying home all day with a baby is harder and infinitely more boring for both of us then packing him up and going somewhere, even if we are sick.

So today we went shopping. For clothes. For me. Last year shopping for clothes was not that fun and I felt like I was trying to dress an elephant, but at least I knew where to go.

MATERNITY.

Now, not so much. Walking past the petite section so does not inspire me, and the regular women's section just seems so... matronly? Not always but, well, maybe always. Which makes me think I am shopping in the wrong stores first off...

*Interlude: Tyson and Logan frequently have "jam sessions" where they play the prerecorded music on the keyboard and sing and play along. Just now Tyson found a version of "O Mio Babbino Caro" and was singing along in his opera voice. About 10 seconds later I heard Logan crying. I assume he was moved to tears by Tyson's beautiful rendition. This might be why half my blogs never make it to publication.*

...And we're back.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I often find myself in the junior section of the store. Which just seems wrong to me. And yet still so right. I mean, I'm young, yeah? It's not like I'm that mom trying to dress exactly like her daughter. Although I did notice one of my young women wearing a shirt that I just bought. But she's only {calculating...} 13 years younger than me.

Crap. I am that woman.

I know it too. As I'm wandering around picking up things to try on I can hear voices in my head "Do you see how these sizes are odd numbers? That means those jeans will not fit your new mama hips." and "Sure honey, maybe you were a small but do you see what you're nursing with? Not. Gonna. Happen."

And to those voices I reply, "Hush Stacy and Clinton! I do not have $5,000 to spend on 14 pieces of beautiful but outrageously expensive clothing. I am going to wear this shirt and I'm going to rock it."

Then I accidentally bump into a teenager with my stroller, replace my small medium with a large and text my sister asking her opinion.

In addition I asked her to please disregard the ugly hair and also, I would like to be addressed as Chesty LaRue from now on.

But this looks ok, right? I'm obviously unsure of what to do with the belt thingy, never mind that I'm attempting my red carpet/mannequin pose for a self portrait, cell phone style.

Meanwhile Logan is in the background calling my bluff and wondering why I keep pulling my shirt up without feeding him.

Good grief this is running long. Basically what I'm trying to ask is where do I belong? What section am I supposed to shop in? And lastly, should I be embarrassed about going home happy with this $9 shirt from the Junior's section?

Please advise.