Who am I to write about fashion?

3 10 2008

So a couple of weeks ago I decided to write about fashion on fridays. What, exactly, was I thinking?

Who am I – as I sit here in sweats and an old tank top that doesn’t cover my growing belly, make-up smeared under my eyes because I didn’t wash my face last night, hair that hasn’t been washed in days – to write about fashion?

I’m having a serious bed-rest-sucks morning. I desperately want to get out of the house. I am tired, so tired, of the same flannel sheets and quilt that I look at almost all the time. I would like to have an excuse to put on something other than sweats.

I’ve started dressing up for my perinatologist appointments on Tuesdays because this is one of the only times I get out of the house. Of course this means I wear a dress or a cute shirt walking down the hall to the doctor’s office where I wait for 5 minutes before they make me take my clothes off and lie under a paper thin sheet. This week I did keep my sassy red flats on for the ultrasounds.

And at least I can still see my feet.


Time for coffee. Everything will be better after coffee.



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