...and toss a grenade into my closet. I officially hate every single article of clothing I own. For so long I have had the mindset of, "you don't need pants/tops/dresses/skirts right now, you'll be pregnant in a few months". Dios mio! A look at my timeline would tell anyone I have been jerking myself around for almost TWO ENTIRE YEARS.
Oh sure, I've bought a few things here and there, mostly to allow for the expansion of my girth due to fertility meds. Even so, my wardrobe at the moment is tired, limp, somewhat dark (grays and blacks), showing signs of wear, misshapen and barely presentable. Kinda like me.
Today a coworker poked fun at what I was wearing. I so wanted to say, "Listen bitch, sorry I can't mirror your latest $300 J Crew spring outfit. I'm 18lbs heavier than I was when you met me and part of that weight is 8lbs I gained while pregnant, the pregnancy that ended with two dead babies." I then wanted to catapult over my desk, do a half twist leap off the top of my cube wall, pounce upon her slight, yet immaculately dressed frame, and dismember her with my bare hands.
I came home from work today and yanked everything that I could get my hands on out of my closet and into garbage bags. By sheer necessity I may need to reach in and grab something for the next two days of work but I cannot continue to schlep around in the same old clothes. The very same clothes whose threads have shrouded me in a strange and confusing mix of despair, hope, anxiety and desperation - the lucky blouse I wore to follie checks, the forgiving pants I wore in the days leading up to trigger, the sweater that I cried into when IUI#2 didn't work, the blazer I used to cover what I thought was a viable pregnancy bump...each piece a tangible part of my journey. I've been so attached but now I just want them gone.
Is this part of starting over and starting again with fresh hope? I really don't know.
Spending the money on new clothes is not something I really want to do at this point either but I can't deny that my outer appearance is impacting how I feel inside. My heart isn't in it but I know I have to go clothes shopping.
I wonder if I'll be the only woman at the mall this weekend who fears that the new clothes she's trying on and buying will become reminders of one of the hardest struggles of her life.