The Perfect Accessory
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: New Moms
By Dawn Hentrich
It is the unseen, unforgettable, ultimate accessory of fashion that heralds your arrival and prolongs your departure.
~Coco Chanel
There's a point in everyone's life when change whacks you upside the head, forcing you to move on. Pregnancy and birth are the ultimate whammy. You've got a Greek chorus of hormones telling you to change your ways. So you give up cocktails and cigarettes, and you develop some sort of sense. You don the red cape of "mommy" with all the superpowers that entails.
Okay, I'd seen the fashion costs of motherhood. I didn't want to give up any of my spunky style, and I figured any gal with good fashion sense and bright red hair could make this transition from glam to ma'am. I didn't imagine the ultimate sacrifice.
Yes, ladies, it's true. The survivors sleep deep in the back of my closet, protected from the elements and my dormant yearnings. No, I'm not talking shoes. I am mourning the loss of the best handbags this world has ever known. A moment of silence if you would...
For any event or occasion, I could go through my collection to find just the right bag.
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: New Moms
By Dawn Hentrich
It is the unseen, unforgettable, ultimate accessory of fashion that heralds your arrival and prolongs your departure.
~Coco Chanel
There's a point in everyone's life when change whacks you upside the head, forcing you to move on. Pregnancy and birth are the ultimate whammy. You've got a Greek chorus of hormones telling you to change your ways. So you give up cocktails and cigarettes, and you develop some sort of sense. You don the red cape of "mommy" with all the superpowers that entails.
Okay, I'd seen the fashion costs of motherhood. I didn't want to give up any of my spunky style, and I figured any gal with good fashion sense and bright red hair could make this transition from glam to ma'am. I didn't imagine the ultimate sacrifice.
Yes, ladies, it's true. The survivors sleep deep in the back of my closet, protected from the elements and my dormant yearnings. No, I'm not talking shoes. I am mourning the loss of the best handbags this world has ever known. A moment of silence if you would...
For any event or occasion, I could go through my collection to find just the right bag.
Sure, my obsession might have been a tad unhealthy, but isn't it always something? I had quite a collection: a few vintage pieces for those classy evenings, patent leather with embroidered cherries for rock-a-billy sass, Chinese brocade for elegance, the perfect jewel-encrusted clutch to spark up that little black dress. I even made a few from cigar boxes with a chic nod to my crafty side. Yes, ladies, it was a collection to drool for. And it was mine. All mine.
Until the guest room turned into the nursery. That closet could no longer serve as my repository for irresponsible spending. No, it had to make way for onesies and toys he can't play with for years. (Thanks, Uncle Joe.)
I decided I would keep ten. A nice round number, and enough to fulfill any fashion issues that might arise in the next year or so. Who knows? There could be a wedding or some cocktail party that we might be able to get a sitter for and might have the energy to actually attend. Ten. Tucked in until needed. Secreted away.
I cried. I physically shed tears over the choices I had to make. I wasn't crying for a knock-off Louis Vuitton bag. No, I knew this was it. No more spunky gal out on the town for a night. No more spending hours deciding which bag was just right. Those days were coming to an end, and it was time to buck up and start the cycle of sacrifices every mommy has to make. My life was no longer about me. Sure, the Today show has all sorts of segments about women holding on to their identity and being a mom. And, gee, aren't they something? But even they had to have had this moment. Bringing home a baby changes everything.
I wanted to be an example to my child. I didn't want him to grow up with irrational attachments. How could I raise a responsible human being when I had an entire closet full of irresponsibility? It's the one thing the books don't tell you while you're eating bon-bons and dreaming about soft cheeks and gurgly smiles. You have nine months to get yourself together. Nine months to recognize you are not #1. Nine months to (gulp) grow up.
They weren't just handbags. They were my freedom, my youth. They were carefree days full of promise. They were little girl memories in a grown-up world. Giving up these bags meant real growth -- however necessary and painful. If I wanted to be a good parent, I needed to "put childish ways behind me" (1 Corinthians 13:11 NIV).
So I culled and had a garage sale -- and, yes, I made a killing feeding the obsessions of young ladies free to buy frippery. I used those funds to buy the diaper bag I now carry -- an Eddie Bauer backpack with tons of pockets, and room for anything and everything under the sun. I wear it casually on my back so that my hands are free. I have something much more precious to carry now, and he has proven to be the perfect accessory for every occasion.
Until the guest room turned into the nursery. That closet could no longer serve as my repository for irresponsible spending. No, it had to make way for onesies and toys he can't play with for years. (Thanks, Uncle Joe.)
I decided I would keep ten. A nice round number, and enough to fulfill any fashion issues that might arise in the next year or so. Who knows? There could be a wedding or some cocktail party that we might be able to get a sitter for and might have the energy to actually attend. Ten. Tucked in until needed. Secreted away.
I cried. I physically shed tears over the choices I had to make. I wasn't crying for a knock-off Louis Vuitton bag. No, I knew this was it. No more spunky gal out on the town for a night. No more spending hours deciding which bag was just right. Those days were coming to an end, and it was time to buck up and start the cycle of sacrifices every mommy has to make. My life was no longer about me. Sure, the Today show has all sorts of segments about women holding on to their identity and being a mom. And, gee, aren't they something? But even they had to have had this moment. Bringing home a baby changes everything.
I wanted to be an example to my child. I didn't want him to grow up with irrational attachments. How could I raise a responsible human being when I had an entire closet full of irresponsibility? It's the one thing the books don't tell you while you're eating bon-bons and dreaming about soft cheeks and gurgly smiles. You have nine months to get yourself together. Nine months to recognize you are not #1. Nine months to (gulp) grow up.
They weren't just handbags. They were my freedom, my youth. They were carefree days full of promise. They were little girl memories in a grown-up world. Giving up these bags meant real growth -- however necessary and painful. If I wanted to be a good parent, I needed to "put childish ways behind me" (1 Corinthians 13:11 NIV).
So I culled and had a garage sale -- and, yes, I made a killing feeding the obsessions of young ladies free to buy frippery. I used those funds to buy the diaper bag I now carry -- an Eddie Bauer backpack with tons of pockets, and room for anything and everything under the sun. I wear it casually on my back so that my hands are free. I have something much more precious to carry now, and he has proven to be the perfect accessory for every occasion.
http://www.chickensoup.com/bulletin.asp?newsid=newsletter-110423-2&utm_source=Beliefnet_Email&utm_medium=Bulletin&utm_campaign=Issue_103
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий