Are you dying to know how I’m doing ensconced in nylon day after day? Well, on Day 17 I’m finally wearing a pair of long pants as the temperature has dipped below 75 degrees. (My criteria for wearing long pants has drastically changed due to my limited wardrobe options.) And one of my three sweatshirts. So I feel that I now have some more clothing options. Because really, wearing the Bulerias or Power Y tank EVERY DAY was just getting a little nasty.
Luckily the ‘lemon washes quite nicely and hasn’t stretched out into weird proportions considering my stomach is looking more and more like I swallowed a watermelon every day.
But trying to work the ‘lemon into my repetoire every day can be a bit daunting. Especially as I try not to look like a gym rat/ haven’t showered/ only wears sweatpants kind of mama every day.
So today, I paired the wrap pant in charcoal grey with my uber-cute but potentially blister-inducing Tory Burch Bryce Clog.
Because every pair of sweatpants needs a patent leather clog to stay above the sloppy fray.
It’s a wonder what a little T logo can do to the maternity fashion psyche.
Sponsored Link: Maternity Dresses
You all know of my love of lululemon.
You all know I’m a faux frugal who really, really likes to shop.
You all know I’m pregnant.
Thus, I’ve put myself up to a challenge. A fashion challenge. Having not bought any “formal” maternity wear my entire pregnancy, and having gone on a serious lululemon bender the past week after my joyous pregnancy news, I’ve decided to see if I can possibly wear a single item of lululemon clothing every day for the next 8 weeks of my pregnancy. Because, well, what the heck else am I supposed to do as I wait out the waning days of pregnancy? (And, I just saw Julie/ Julia and this could make a heck of a book. Ha!)
Behold, The lululemon Maternity Wear Challenge:
4 tanks, 3 sweatshirts, 4 sweatpants, 6 workout pants, 8 weeks, and who knows how many more pounds to gain.
I even made a widget on flickr (who knew I could figure that out!). (edited to add: and I figured out how to make it appear on my sidebar, yay! Check it out to the right.)
I’m now 31 weeks along, and for day 1 of the challenge I wore the Bulerias Tank in Black and Dance Studio II*No Pants in Coal. I felt stylish and swishy while walking down Michigan Avenue.
Here’s to being comfy and ensconced in nylon for many, many days.
At first, I was going to write this post about all the scary things I’ve been reading about regarding endocrine disrupting chemicals and their affects on unborn fetuses. I mean, Dr. Karp told me personally to avoid nail polish and other beauty products in order to avoid being a phalate-carrying menace. Boy did that put me in a bad mood. Double-whammy for me is that this crap really matters in the first trimester, and since I’m almost at month 6, well, hell, I’m going to get my feet rubbed and scrubbed. (In all seriousness, though, Nicole of Nine Naturals did send me a link to this site, which is pretty helpful.)
But no, not even after trying to find a safe, toulene-free nail polish (although OPI brand does not use formaldehyde anymore), I gave up and started worrying about something else entirely.
I’ve lost the desire to shop.
It’s scary, I know. I have no interest in perusing stores, browsing online or gasp, even going to the low-hanging shopping fruit known as Target.
I should have known something was amiss on Friday, after I got my haircut downtown and had no desire to make the three block walk from my salon to H&M. I always like going to H&M.
But the pregnancy hormones have overtaken even my frugal shopper hormones (remember when I was supposed to be all about being frugal here?)
I’m not even a frugal shopper anymore. I’m an abstinent shopper. I don’t have the drive or the will. (Or the money.)
Maybe the winds of Fall will also bring my shopping mojo back again. But until then I’ll be high and dry and wearing my old, elastic waist duds.
Tagged as:
Dr. Karp,
endocrine disrupting chemicals,
Frugalista,
phalates
I owe a lot to another Sarah. First, she gave me some great insight in how she’s living frugal life. Check out her story and others in my newest Chicago Parent article. (Yay! A little freelance work in a sucky economy!)
But more importantly, Sarah gave me the brilliant idea to my other money making venture: Selling off my old, yet still terribly stylish clothes, on eBay. I mean, the clothes are just sitting in my overstuffed closet gathering dust. Wouldn’t they look better on you?
So, herewith is the beginning of my weekly-ish eBay auctions. We’ll see how much stuff I can clean out and how much I can clean up in the world’s largest online auction space. Ah, I love the internets.
For sale this week: my barely-worn lululemon Still pants in royal blue. They’re fabulously comfy, but just don’t fit me right anymore.
Be still my beating heart from this terrific workout pant.
Somewhere between the chlorine fumes at the pool and one too many Boston Coolers this summer I’ve lost the will to be motivated. By month six of my self-imposed retirement, I was ready to take on the world. Now, nearing the end of month eight, I’ve let go the nanny I’ve always been wary of mainly because I am not filling my free time doing anything that meaningful. (Ah yes, there is beauty in shopping at Target, but cheap sweaters don’t always fill the void.)
Once the eighty-degree sunny weather hit and decided to stay for more than a week, I decided to turn it off and tune into the wonders of two-year-old (TYO) dialect.
TYO: Mommy, what are we gw’an to do noowwwww?
Mommy: I don’t know, whatever we want.
TYO: I want to paaaaay.
TYO: No no. No want to go to errands. Want to paaaay.
So play we do. All day and night. Until I realize we’re out of milk or something and then I walk to the Speedway on the corner and buy some bad, hormone-laced in BPA bottle generic brand that will disintegrate my child’s brain or something. I haven’t posted in quite sometime over there where my mug shot smiles out from some alternative working mom universe. I did post here recently, mainly because I had a sob story to tell and I don’t want my friends Jill and Beth to think I’ve completely gone AWOL in the blog world.
Speaking of AWOL, so are any vestiges of readers I once had here. I know you get what you give, and I’ve given so little of late, I’m not surprised by my lack of readers, but it’s yet another reminder of the lazy-ass summer lovin’ blob I’ve become. I’m even 3 episodes behind on Project Runway and wasn’t even sure if what I was watching was the new season.
It’s quite fun forgetting there’s a world of motivated mothers out there. Those who defy the odds, grace magazine pages, have hit books , so on and so forth. I can see why people opt-out never to return to the world of deadlines, projects, and conference calls. Sure, paychecks are nice, (there are so many fall items like THIS BAG that I’m seriously coveting, but seriously cannot afford), but they’re nothing compared to a sweet farmer’s tan and your kid’s dirty fingernails.
Ahh … that purple sure is perrrrty, though…
Dear Emily bag,
It’s been a long year since I first received you as a present for Mother’s Day. I coveted you, as I saw you on many a friend and celebrity’s arm. When I used you I was giddy. You looked like a purse, yet you were waterproof, well-insulated and had many a pocket that I happily filled.
It was unfortunate when things started to go wrong early on in our relationship. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden your strap started to rip and fray. I tried to mend and glue you back together, but it didn’t work. So I had to take you back. I waited a month for your replacement, ready to start anew. However, your cousin of same size, shape and color treated me the same. Her strap broke and her inside pocket leaked. Disappointed, I perservered. For $150, I figured I could make our relationship last. I stuck by you through wet wallets and soggy diapers.
But two months ago, things got worse and I returned you once more. The storekeeper at my favorite store gave me crazy eyes for bringing you in again, but she couldn’t dismiss my arguments of shoddy craftsmanship. By a stroke of luck, and maniacal comparison tests, there was yet another new version of you available for me at the store to take home. You had been revamped. Different stitching on the strap! Better buckles and latches! The storekeeper and I hugged and parted ways. I hoped not to have to traipse through her glass doors again.
Now, though, I have to reject you once and for all. Your third cousin, once-removed, in pewter is now in tatters. Your strap, like your relatives’ is ripping, and your beautiful, once shiny and pristine body is now covered with flaky scars.Â
Some things don’t look good “broken in.”
I saw this happen to my friends’ pewter Emily bags, but I never thought that it would afflict me as well. But it has, and now it is the final straw. I must reject you, Storksak Emily bag, for good. As much as it pains my fashion-savvy self, I must turn to other brands. Perhaps they can help me find a new bag in time for Mother’s Day because Emily, we’re through.
Sincerely,
Self-Made Mom
