Am I shallow?

So, I bought myself some new clothes via JC Penney online. There was free shipping, and things were on sale. After quite a period of time where all the new things I was buying for myself were maternity clothes, it was nice to get a few things that were not designed with an extra flap in front for a growing belly.

It is ridiculous how much better it made me feel to do that.

I am back to my pre-pregnancy size, thanks to the breastfeeding, though my abdomen could use a few sit-ups and looks like it had train tracks laid down on it. So I am able to fit into most of my normal clothes once again. But sadly, I have given up the notion, after several years and two children, that I will never be a size 4 again. Size 6 I can still get into. Mostly. I am a comfortable size 8 now, nicely medium, and just a half-inch tall enough that I can wear non-petite clothes.

Last week, my package arrived. Along with two items that my mother had ordered (long-sleeved cardigans), I’d purchased a new oxford shirt (deep lavender, stain-resistant), a new sweater (nautical blue), a new long-sleeved shirt (on clearance, plum wine) and a new, nicely tailored, black skirt. The Webmaster liked the new look. Everything fit well. I felt dressy and confident at church on Sunday. I might be stuck in skirts and sweaters for the next year due to breastfeeding needs, but it felt good to shed elastic waistbands once again.

If a few new pieces of clothing can boost my self-image like that, how shallow am I? Am I just a mom who needs a lift so she doesn’t feel like a total frump, or am I really that sensitive to how I look?

When I am home with the kids and know that I won’t be going anywhere, I know I dress down. I don’t even put my contacts in. I have been caught by the UPS guy with curlers in my hair. There are days when I’m so distracted and busy that even though the kids are dressed and cleaned-up, I am still in pajamas at noon. Contrast that to Sundays, or days when I leave the house. Hair cleaned up. Makeup on. Contacts in. Clean shirt, as opposed to the ones that Baby Boy has spit up on.

I guess I just get tired of looking like a dishrag, so I feel a need to dress nicely when I get the chance. The kids don’t care how I look right now. Baby Boy just loves me for my breasts and the Munchkin wouldn’t care if I walked around naked as long as she got to do that as well. Someday, the kids will care tremendously how I look, so I don’t embarass them in front of their peers.

I think that right now, I’m just working on not embarassing myself.

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