Pre-children, I was a mall-rat. I used to love clothes. Not just clothes, I loved jewelry, purses, perfume, shoes – all that girly shit. I could spend hours, even days at the mall. My fantasy was being locked in a mall overnight, Bloomingdales or Nordstrom preferably, with access to dressing rooms without waiting.

So how did I go from looking forward to trying on clothes and flipping through Vogue to find out what the latest trends were for the upcoming season. Now, that’s like the last thing I want to do. It’s synonymous with chewing class and drinking urine. So not fun. So not interesting. In the words of Avril Lavigne, it’s so whatever!

All of this is fine and good. Our priorities change. Our lifestyles change. It is just not that important to look like you don’t have kids. Who are we, as moms, trying to impress anyway?

…and why do I loathe shopping for clothes so much?

Well, for starters…

1. It takes time. A lot of time. Time I don’t have.
2. It takes brain-power. It hurts my brain trying to keep up with whether or not I can wear black and brown together this season. What fabrics go with what? Am I too old or young for this shirt or these pants?
3. It’s expensive. Unless I agree to pay a babysitter a small fortune to watch my children, just for the luxury of spending a large fortune on clothes, I will have to make split-decision fashion choices and right now, I don’t trust my dated fashion sense.
4. Clothes don’t fit me the way they used to. Although I have worked hard to shed some of those unwanted pounds, my body has changed for better and for worse. Even with my weight loss success, I still cannot wear the same size I did pre-children. Women’s clothes, especially jeans, are designed for the bodies of girls stuck in little boy’s bodies. It just seems like a colossal waste of time to try things on and that are too tight, way too long (like every pant and jean) or need to be tailored to the point that you might as well invest in custom clothing.
5. Why bother? All dressed up and nowhere to go. Sometimes I lose my motivation to even care. I tend to gravitate towards those cropped cotton pants and long wife-beaters. What’s comfortable seems luxurious now (all those young girls, you just don’t get it) and reminds of the weekends. I like weekends. I’m talkin’, things that can hold up to a fudgescicle handprint. Although I do have to dress up for work, those clothes are not as comfortable as my updated leisure suits.

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