Closet Case.

Eventually I'll run out of the low-hanging-fruit post titles.  Sooner rather than later, I hope. You probably so too.

I ended the work week amped for a Saturday of closet cleaning mayhem. Oh, it was going to be slash and burn in there. Those large Ikea bags (the "Dimpa" - yeah, I know my Swedish flat-pack speak, thankyouverymuch) with approximately 85 pounds of unwearable wardrobe? I was SO READY to just toss them into the truck bed and burn rubber to the nearest charity willing to take the lot.  I was mentally prepared to just let go. I was looking forward to the high I knew would come with the zen-like separation from material things.

So I pulled the bags out from under the bed and the floor of the closet, sat down, opened them up and . . . .

Oh hey, I loved that shirt! Hey, that's a barely worn Banana Republic suit.  These sweaters would be great for fall. Ooh, that dress was pretty, remember that dinner at Boulevard? Such a great night out.  And there's that collared shirt I was looking for.  Wow, I have that many pairs of jeans?

Damn.

And there goes that project.

Why keep all those fabulous pieces in a bag?  Oh, because I just had a baby and anything sized in the neighborhood of "M" - NOT HAPPENING.

I'll admit, for a long time, I was apprehensive about having kids precisely because I knew it would come with weight gain. Significant or insignificant, I wasn't really cool with that.  Because I was a fatty mcfatterson in college. And high school. But especially college.  Freshman fifteen? Try the Thesis Thirty.

The summer after college, however, I joined the Y and some flip got switched in my head and over the course of the next year I dropped about 65 pounds. Fun!

I can't blame all of this current weight on the baby.  Frankly, the baby weight is all but 5 or 10 pounds gone. There was some other creep in the years since law school, in the years since marriage and settling down and settling down on the couch more than settling in on the elliptical.

The year after I graduated from college I returned for my roomie's graduation.  I'm not going to lie, I looked good. In fact, I looked fucking amazing - especially compared to the way I had the last time I had seen many of the friends I ran into that day.  Great feeling.  Really, really great feeling.

Guess what's coming in May?  My 10  year college reunion.  Oh dear god I don't want to show up at my college weight.  For me, that means something completely different.

Back to the closet: all of those clothes are waiting to be worn.  Can I kick the donut habit and add some exercise into my life again?  I know what it takes to lose weight. It's so simple yet insanely difficult.

Weight Watchers isn't going to cut it.  I don't deserve that yet because I haven't made the commitment to myself yet.  It's me and me on this journey.  And I know it needs to start soon - before I stop breastfeeding.

Right after tomorrow's BBQ.

Also: looking at those clothes mad me so damn wistful.  I (think I) used to look good when I went to work each day. Like I cared.  I mean, it's not that I don't care now, but I'd probably be a great candidate for a What Not To Wear style intervention and I know it.  It doesn't help that I have about 10 well-enough (not even well!) fitting clothing.  And I don't wear my fun accessories anymore.  Or my fun shoes.  There's nothing fun about my fashion these days - clothes are utilitarian, only worn because they need to be.  I am certainly not my daughter's style role model right now.  Time to see if that kid will sit in the jogging stroller.  And buy some new running shoes.