Changes

I've changed my clothes three times today.
This is not something I was warned about in prenatal class. Yes, changing clothes due to the inevitable spit ups, ill-fitting diaper or simply being unable to recall if today's underwear came from the drawer or the floor seems reasonable in a post baby world. But dressing for different members of society was not brought up. Before baby I had day wear and night wear. Now, it is oh-so much more complicated.
I have my sleep wear, that often doubles as my run-around-the-house wear. It is by far the most comfortable and consists mostly of my husband's boxers, my stretched out tees and ratty tanks: stuff that still fits my now much changed figure. If I'm lucky, I get to wear this through breakfast and into the morning nap.
I have my run-around-the-house wear that makes me feel like I got dressed, even though I would never want to be seen outside of the house in any of it. You know – the slightly threadbare yoga pants and only slightly ratty t-shirts. Cotton and comfy. The kind of thing Stacy and Clinton love to take you down for. Just dressed enough in case a package is delivered, but not so dressed as to stress about a little rice cereal caked on the sleeve (digested or otherwise).
I have coffee clothes: clean jeans, fitted wash'n'wear shirts that are accompanied by a swipe at my hair with a brush before staggering down the block with a stroller for a cup of sweet, life-giving caffeine. Changing into these clothes is that first step toward joining the real world. If a little mascara is added, well, my husband would probably suspect me of flirting with the bag boys on their coffee break. This is usually as good as I get.
After coffee, I, of course, get to change back into my run-around-the-house wear. Only it's now hairy, wrinkled run-around-the-house wear because I left it in a pile on the floor and my cat has been napping on it.
And, finally, I have my real clothes. I have so few real clothes. But, every now and then, I get changed into them and berate myself for not checking in advance to see if they still fit. They usually don't. Real clothes are reserved for the rare night out – as has happened a grand total of three times post baby – and the evenings tend to be short. Uncomfortable and short. But I haven't popped a button. Yet.
And, with the new year now upon me, will this constant change of clothing see any changes? I have the feeling that the answer is a resounding no. At least, not until June when everything changes again and I have to return to work, wearing my big girl, real clothes for a staggering nine hours at a time.
Now that'll be a change.

Jenn is a new mom to an almost 7 month old baby girl and blogs about baby, motherhood, in-laws and other crazy people, and the venerable Mr.Q at Quarter Rest – which is where Jodi is guest author today, as part of The Blog Exchange. Be sure to stop by and read Jodi's post on Changes!