Go Forth and Be Chic

An escape to the mall last night proved to be a lesson in just how exceedingly unhip I have become. I wasn't always like this. I mean, I can remember a time not so long ago when I could, say, walk through a mall, and not feel like Ugly Betty (which, by the way, is a great new show if you haven't seen it). This all changed when I had a baby. Make no mistake, I love my child fiercely as well as countless things about being his mother, but the unhipness is a definite casuality of motherhood. I should say, rather, my unhipness because some mothers manage to pull it off with great and seemingly effortless panache. I suppose I am not utterly unhip since what I was wearing yeasterday -- Target jeans (which I LOVE, by the way) and an Old Navy top -- can hardly be compared to a pair of mom jeans and a cardigan sweater with, like, pumpkins, candycanes, or a honkin' Thanksgiving turkey on it-- you KNOW what I'm talking about.

I'm just saying, I. felt. like. a. frump, okay? Perhaps because these jeans are my go-to pair, which means I wear them at least seven times a week and the top is a faded, shrunken (from multiple launderings) peasant top that I bought shortly after I had the babe. You know, that transition piece that you vow WILL be too big for you by the time 3-months postpartum rolls around. Yeah, well, it still fits, and makes me look (a) like I just gave birth, which clearly anyone can see is NOT the case as I wear it while strolling my 8 1/2-month-old OR (b) like I am three months pregnant, which, trust me, is not the case AND not the look I'm going for OR (c) like both of the aforementioned choices. It doesn't help the situation, of course, that as we stroll I see hip chicks aplenty, all with their designer booties and bags and freshly polished lips. And that while trying on clothes in an upscale women's apparel store, I am privy to a conversation between friends, one of which is bemoaning the fact that she had to get the size four instead of the two. Christ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! And then, as we're making our way out of the mall, I see this ad, colossal and illuminated and staring me square in the face:

As if ushered from Mount Prada by the Moses of fashion and style and hipness and all that is right (or wrong) with the world to the lowly ones wearing peasant tops: Go forth and be chic. Well, really, I'd like to, but I have a peasant top to wash.

:::

Today was a dreary one, with the rains starting early this morning and lasting most of the day. What do you do but just long to constantly take naps? We did actually manage to rest while the kiddo napped, which made it a bonafide lazy Sunday. Later this evening we went to the nearby Super (Duper) Target to grocery shop and to find a dark brown belt for daddy and ended up getting a very stylish Beatles tee for the little one. I was gunna link it to a picture, but Target.com doesn't have one. Curses upon the red bullseye. Anyway, Eli enjoyed riding in the shopping cart, and we enjoyed watching him more. I am in love with this stage. Of course, I know I will be head over feet for the next stage and the next one and the next one and the next and that I will go forth and be amazed, captivated, and all caught up in awe of our boy wonder.