Well, it seems that the work I did just didn't cut it. We moved in my with my parents a couple weeks ago (yep, that's move number 2 in six months. Good times.). And now, as a completely justified result of all the stuff that has bombarded my poor mother's house, she's hit me with a Come-to-Jesus talk. The result? I'm up here cleaning out some boxes trying desperately to make room for the MORE boxes that need to be unloaded.
And here's the really depressing part...
I HAVE A CLOSET FULL OF CLOTHES THAT DON'T FIT ME ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If I'm really honest with myself, half this stuff hasn't fit me since I got married 5 years ago. But the unavoidable truth is that now that I officially possess the all glorified post-pardum body - spread hips, extra ba-donk-a-donk and everything, I don't have a shot in HELL that any of it will ever fit me again.
I really don't want to face this, but the fact is, it's not like I have room for all these too-small clothes anyway. I just hate having to face that the chances of me getting back down to 120 (or even 130 would be cool!) and having the body of a junior are between slim and never gonna happen.
Do you ever struggle with getting rid of clothes (or anything else) that you've created an emotional attachment to? "I got this T-shirt on my Honeymoon," "These were my favorite capris in college," "I refuse to believe I'll never get into those pants again. They always looked good on me!"
Stacy and Clinton, rescue me from my insanity!!!!!!! GAAAAAHHHHHH!