This is a post from my sister: Anne.
So I have this pair of pants. (Okay, they’re capris, but who cares.) Wearing these capris is pretty damn close to wearing a cloud. They’re comfortable in all the right places and smooth as a baby’s bum from being washed so many times. They’re beige and are just starting to show their age; there’s a bleach spot on the cuff of the left leg and one of the pockets is ripped at the corner, but they’re great to bum around in.
I found them when I was pregnant with Julia, tucked away on a crowded clearance rack at a maternity clothing store. They didn’t look like maternity pants and I was pleasantly surprised when I tried them on and found they made me look good, which was a hard look to achieve because I looked like a manatee while pregnant with her. I broke them in so well that when I packed up my maternity stuff I left them out so I could wear them around the house. Seems I never put them away after I had Oliver, either. Continue reading “Mastering the art of self-humiliation”