I have a body

One year postpartum has come and gone and the only way I can describe birth and the subsequent period is obliteration. But I’m clawing my way back to some semblance of physical healing and nervous system repair. And now my ever busy brain has decided that my body is “too big” and that I should probably lose some weight. But the truth is I just can’t. No, it’s not that I can’t, it’s that I won’t. I won’t abandon myself in this way like I have so many other times before and one part of it is that I have a daughter now. I refuse to restrict calories or intentionally shrink in front of her. And the more I think about it now I actually think that I’ve maybe been dieting my whole life? And while I was pregnant and postpartum I just let myself be and now I continue to let myself be. So maybe how my body was always meant look. I’ve been listening to an old podcast about anti-diet culture and intuitive eating (linked below), but it’s going to take a long time to re-wire my brain on this one. I’m trying to eat for sustenance and for pleasure and, yet, I probably still do throw my French fries away before I’m truly done with them. But I will eat the fucking fries because they taste good and I’m alive God damnit. I will get the ice cream because I see my daughter’s body and sometimes her little belly protrudes because, you know, she’s alive and fed and she’s perfect and she hasn’t been exposed yet to the absolute fucking unrelenting pressure to make herself smaller. I’m telling you without a shadow of a doubt: she couldn’t be more perfect. So why wouldn’t I be perfect in the very same way? I can’t lose weight because I won’t abandon myself this time. Let my consumption of the cupcakes at birthday parties my daughter attends be an act of resistance. Let this Kate Baer poem be my anthem and maybe yours, too?

Self care and such

-Part of my mental health journey postpartum has been moving my body in joyful ways (again, not with the intention of losing weight.) I’ve enjoyed bringing back in a yoga/mindfulness practice and dance class has become a weekly occurrence. It’s been helping my anxiety, energy levels and my overall spinal/back pain. Plus, community in yoga and dance classes tends to be a balm to my soul and absolutely gets me out of my head.

-Going to the pool even though I’m self conscious about my body. I’ve been back floating and acting like a child by trying to have a one person tea party on the bottom of the pool floor (why is it so hard to stay down there?) and, at one point, doing a cannonball as the adults in the vicinity worked on their tans.

-I finished the Netflix series The Little House on Prairie and I’m declaring this Laura Ingalls Wilder (minus the systematic removal and massacre of Native Americans which I’m glad they included in the show) summer. Let us frolic through the field. Let us build our homestead. Let us listen to our 5 year olds play the harmonica even though I’m overstimulated and would truthfully love to turn the cartoons on to make the harmonica sound stop (which I usually do).

-Flowers from the local plant shop even though they’re way more expensive than they were last year. I would grow my own flowers, but I’m very tired and we have no water in Colorado so…no flowers this year?

-Journaling, journaling, journaling. I try to write three pages a day of a stream of consciousness (brain dump) and I love commonplace journaling (this is how I commonplace journal). This practice has stuck for about a year and a half now and I’m so happy it doesn’t feel like a chore. Paper Republic journals are my jam (I have an A6 for commonplace journaling and an A5 for my diary and Eli & Barry notebook).

I made a mood board of what I want to wear this summer. Everything is white airy except for that red set. You know I can’t resist a bit of red.

Other things worth mentioning

-Books I’ve read and enjoyed recently: Heart the Lover by Lily King, What A Time To Be Alive by Jenny Mustard, Famesick by Lena. Dunham, The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad, Yesteryear on audio book by Caro Claire Burke (so maybe no to Little House On The Prairie summer?) and, always, Devotions by Mary Oliver when things start to feel dark.

-The old podcast Don’t Salt My Game and the old movie Embrace for anti-diet, body positivity content. The movie Amelie for a bit of whimsy. Giggly Squad podcast for a giggle.

Oh, did you want a business update?

You may know that I run a clothing brand called Eli & Barry which is currently not taking any made-to-order orders due to the fact that my seamstress of nearly 5 years is no longer contract sewing. I’ve been teaching myself Adobe Illustrator with the thought that I might add sewing patterns to my offerings and I’ve been interviewing contract sewers. I’ve been doing all of this slower than I’m used to do doing because rushing with matters such as these tends to backfire on me. I’m sure I’ll figure it all out and initially it all felt like a bit of a crushing identity crisis like WTF DO I DO NOW and now I’m trying to give myself time and listen to my intuition while making small steps forward.

Happy August

How about some anti-resolutions for 2026? I guess an anti-resolution isn’t a thing because even if you resist the generic resolutions that are rooted in the capitalism, you’re still resolving to do something. So we’ll call them my anti-capitalistic resolutions.

1. No to Ozempic, no to glp-1s, and no to private companies parading as “health care” trying to sell you on losing 14% of your weight with a magic pill so you’ll have more energy (I’m looking at you Hers). Giving into this weight loss noise that has absolutely gotten out of control only supports white supremacy and I will not let the patriarchy win.

2. “Build an alter for yourself.” I’ve been haunted by this Reel by film maker Danni Juhl (haunted in a good way) from the moment I saw it. My alter for myself is an ode to my boundaries, my intuition, and an homage to what I’ve overcome. Juhl says in her Reel, “I think I will build an alter for myself. I will pray to her before meals, before sleeping, before everything. I will thank her, I will repent, I will obey.” My alter to myself in process below.

Some items currently included in this alter: a picture of me looking cheeky as hell in red lipstick and my signature sound canceling headphones, a picture of 8(?) year old me, favorite fragrances that I put on in the morning AND before I go to bed because I can, one of my needles from my blood glucometer from when I had gestational diabetes during my pregnancy with M*, face masks (we use them when one of our children vomits to try to avoid becoming infected…it has yet to work) and a cracked wall from the door being swung open with gusto ten two many times by a spirited 5 year old. Oh, and a candle.

3. Resist AI. No, I do not want you to write this e-mail for me. No, I do not want you to create the post for me. No I do not want you to make me more efficient and a therefore a better cog in your capitalist machine. No. No. No. Chat GPT is literally killing our brain cells. Any attempts to make me go faster in society that profits off of my efficiency can kindly fuck off.

4. No doubt in reaction to the chemical depression I experienced during M’s pregnancy where someone or something quite literally turned the light out on all of my joy, I have resolved to go more analog than ever before. During that depressive spell, all I could manage to do was scroll Instagram. One form of analog life that I’m loving is commonplace journaling. I bought myself a nice Paper Republic A6 journal, filled it with pocket Moleskine notebooks and now I write down even the most seemingly mundane details from my day. I bought an Instax printer so that I can print iPhone photos and paste them into the journals. I print pictures of my daughter’s hair after her braids are taken out and call it religion. I write down that I went to the local coffee shop and read Le Petit 3 newspaper (highly recommend) while sipping a cortado. I print pictures of my kids for the 100th time and put them in my journal and each feels as sacred as the next. It might seem like a time suck, but anything that keeps me off of doom scrolling is a win for me. And, like I’ve already said, efficiency can bugger off. Pictures of the journal below.

on the front of this journal is a July Rose journal charm that says “notice everything”

not cigarettes in the pen holder, those are pencils lol

documented a day date with my husband

4. Most certainly a cliche, but my style has evolved since becoming a mom of two and I’m having a nice time thinking about it. The way I would describe my wardrobe needs now would be utilitarian, offensively oversized, and perhaps profoundly paired down out of necessity due to the added admin of having two children instead of one. Instead of doing some sort of large wardrobe clean out and contemplating new purchases and pinpointing a style that I need to achieve, I’ve decided on a very slow approach: the hanger system. You’ve might have heard of turning the hanger around after you wear something so that over the course of time, you see what you’re actually wearing by how many of your hangers are flipped. I will do this all winter and then sell and donate what’s not being worn. I will do this again as the weather warms. No new purchases at the moment, but plenty of time spent on Pinterest which feels like social media light to me.

Other things

1. I am working on my red cardigan inspired by Ani of Close Knit and many other knitters who made their own Nikki Chasin/Babaa style red cardigan. The project took a back seat to the children (oh the children…how I love them and how I feel like I’m drowning) I’ve begun again and I’m slowly working my way, even if it’s one row per day. When I finished the body it was way more fitted than I thought it would be (don’t @ me I did a swatch), but through a wet block I was able to get the fit I like in the body.

2. Mostly we’re just battling sick season over here. J’s immune system is somewhat stronger after a few winters, but M is getting pummeled and all we can do is snot suck, soothe, clean up vomit and wait until spring. It makes me distressed if the pile on happens (illnesses on top of illnesses, back to back illnesses) because work takes a back seat, but I suppose this is a season, literally and figuratively, and the least of the world’s problems. Fuck ICE.

Other things I’ve been enjoying recently: the Giggly Squad podcast, Alice Hoffman’s book Lessons in Magic, staring at a smiling 7 month old, sock curls and how to take better care of my hair in general, this Lindquist bag I got for Christmas, writing as a daily practice, letting my 5 year old dress in the most deranged way possible, and reading Mary Oliver perhaps in the same way that one might read the bible.

Other things I’ve been thinking about recently: how to get a 7 month old to put food in their mouth, how much Clorox wiping is too much Clorox wiping, how much hand sanitizing is too much hand sanitizing, my gramma who died last week (she’s the one I talked about here and instead of asking her questions, I wrote her a letter that my dad read to her 4 days before she passed that went something like this: “thank you, thank you, thank you”), how people grieve, the passage of time, what happens when we die?, why do we have to die?, why can’t my children be this age forever?, how am I already almost 38?

Thanks for reading?

*I refer to my children by their first initial because what is this world we’re living in? M is my baby, J is my little girl.

So we decided to have a baby.

My son is now earth side (we’ll call him M) and, no, it wasn’t the birthing experience I hoped it would be, but, yes, it was better than J’s birth.

I suppose I should include a trigger warning in this essay (is that what this is…there’s a bit of chaos in here) I’m about to talk about birth trauma. If you’re not wanting to read about a birth experience containing medical complications, maybe skip this one. Uh, and maybe skip the first story I posted about the birth of my daughter because that one left me particularly broken.

So let’s get into what I want to talk about today…

questions I’ve been asking myself and those around me since having my second child

also

things I’ve learned through my second birthing experience

also

the magical parts of this birth

1. was I not meant to have the golden hour with either of my babies?

2. why did both of my babies have to receive life saving measures?

3. why does every one of my births shatter my world and make me lose my footing?

4. Was I destined to have to beg the people around me to give me my baby in this dissociative way that still sticks with me? I can still hear the sound of my voice that didn’t sound like my own in my head asking anyone in the room to just give me my baby. For both of my births. “I just want my baby,” I said.

5. Did you know that during a c section (which we had scheduled to try to avoid the nature of the first birth), that they just cut you open while you’re awake and take your baby out? Like, logically I knew this. But it’s truly wild that birthing people go through this all the time. I was just awake. With a curtain across my chest. They numbed me. They cut me open. My baby was pulled from my body. The sound of a garbled and wet cry from my son is forever burned in my brain. Watching my son on the warming table as they tried to clear his lungs was my only lifeline. They place him on my chest, finally, but kept putting oxygen on his face. I felt like he was physically slipping off of me because of my numb body.

6. Is it normal for doctors to normalize pain during a c section? Like when a doctor would touch my uterus and it would send a shooting pain into my right shoulder. This happened multiple times throughout the hour long process. “Ouch!” I would say. Louder and louder hoping to convey my point. “Sorry, there’s nothing we can do about it,” They replied. Over, and over, and over.

7. Why did I have to be alone after giving birth to my son? I was shaking uncontrollably from the hormones and learning that I was beginning to excessively bleed (the fear was that I was having a hemorrhage) and learning that my son needed to go to the NICU in the same moment. I’ll never forget my husband turning sheet white and then having a panic attack. I told him to lay down on the ground so he wouldn’t faint. When he recovered, he asked me who he should stay with. It wasn’t even a question: he would go with our son. He would go with our son because the thought crossed my mind that if the worst happened, that if my son died, I didn’t want my son to be alone. If the other worst thing happened, that I died from hemorrhaging, that I knew I could handle being alone. I knew that if one of us were to die I needed my husband to be able to help usher my son to the other side, but that I could be strong enough to do it alone. I’m not sure this thought will ever leave me. A thought like this changes a person.

8. I didn’t know that the depression I experienced while pregnant would instantly leave my body as soon as M was born, but boy did postpartum anxiety enter the chat. This still might be one of my biggest disappointments with my birth. I really hoped I wouldn’t feel like I was being chased by a wild animal when I got home this time (it’s called post traumatic stress/panic attacks). I had hoped I would feel more calm in the months after my son’s arrival. It just wasn’t going to happen that way.

Okay, okay let’s try to lighten the mood a bit. I’m doing much better now nearly 5 months postpartum. I wouldn’t be able to write about it if I wasn’t feeling better. To be totally fair, it wasn’t all bad. Truly. For those of you who already know about my first birth story, my son’s birth was not nearly as traumatic, but it was still traumatic. We’ve got shades of trauma here. First birth left me destroyed. Second birth, slightly less destroyed, but still decently bruised and broken. Many people communicated with me very well throughout this birth as opposed to my first birth and I think I had less fear as complications were unfolding this time. I also have tons of qualified individuals around me working with me currently on the postpartum anxiety piece (like…a psychiatrist and a psychologist) and a few good friends who are more like family who have kept me afloat.

At this point, it only feels fair to include some of the magical moments of my son’s birth because they were there and I tend to focus on the negative. So let’s talk about them.

1. I did get to hold my son for a few minutes before they took him to the NICU. I remember them placing his warm body on my chest and I couldn’t believe how perfect he was. He had good color even with the oxygen mask on and he was warm and I just remember being amazed by this little creature who I grew inside of me.

2. I got to hear my baby cry when he was born as opposed to my first birth experience. In my mind, crying baby = good, silent baby in the first birth = bad.

3. Seeing my daughter meet my son for the first time is an image that will stay with me until my dying day. My daughter’s face looked like complete magic when she got to hold him. I’d include that photo here, but I try to keep images of my children off of the internet. And some things might be too sacred to share.

4. Shout out to my husband who remained a force of positivity throughout the whole experience. I’ll never forget his warm, encouraging eyes and words as they took my son out of my body and onto the warming table. My husband walked back and forth between my son and I and I remember his words: “He’s doing so great!” I truly picked a good one.

5. Do you ever just meet someone who you know is doing what they’re meant to do? That would have been our nurse who took care of me both before and after the c section. If I believed in God and that angels were real, it would be her who might make me believe in a higher power. Among many other caring moments, she was the one who told my husband to FaceTime with me while my son was being taken to the NICU while I experienced the beginnings of a hemorrhage. Seeing my son learning how to breathe for the first time in the NICU on my husband’s chest might have saved my life. At least it felt like that at the time.

6. C section recovery was 100% better for me than my first (vaginal) birth. With J’s birth, I couldn’t walk for months and I still have pelvic floor issues. I was walking days after my c section. A huge win.

7. I feel transformed. Now that my anxiety is being better managed (that’s a whole story for another day), I feel…strong. I feel wildly alive and everything feels very vivid and sometimes volatile and I cry all the time, but not always out of sadness. I can’t believe my son and my daughter are mine and they amaze me everyday.

8. I have strengthened my ongoing mission to continue to troll white men. I no longer shield them from the gruesome things that have happened during my births. If birthing people have to experience it, then men should be able to hear about it. Yes, I do put this in the positive category of this experience and I’m glad I’ve strengthened one of my life’s purposes, which is making white men uncomfortable.

I’m learning to accept that my births were meant to be tumultuous. Maybe everyone’s births are tumultuous in some way and we’re just not prepared because it’s not always talked about. And maybe there’s no way to prepare for birth. You can’t prepare for this. Parenthood for me is magic and terrible and the closest thing to a religious experience that I’ve ever had. My children have brought me physically to my knees in moments of joy and in moments of suffering. The closest thing to heaven and hell I have ever felt.

Not really sure how to end this one, but I think that’s it for today. Thanks for reading.

*the golden hour for those who don’t know is the hour after birth when some birthing people get to hold their baby and do “skin-to-skin” which apparently is how your baby gets into Harvard someday. It’s supposed to be magical to those it happens to.

*EMDR is a type of therapy specifically for trauma. I’ll describe it how I understand it. It involves bringing yourself back to the traumatizing memory in your mind, feeling the terror or whatever emotions you were experiencing in that moment and then the therapist initiates a type of eye movement that’s supposed to basically re-route the memory into a different part of the brain. So instead of re-living it over and over and over again, the memory gets filed away in the past. It’s honestly the hardest therapy I’ve ever done and I had to basically go feral in the session about J’s birth to break through and finally feel like I could have a second child.

Since I love other people’s thrifting wishlists, I thought I’d share with you what categories I’m searching for when I enter a thrift store. Let’s get into it.

1. Dresses for J. This girl…let me tell you. She does not like a day without a dress. The other day I had her wearing sweatpants with a summer dress on top to preschool as a compromise (she wanted to wear a dress, I didn’t want her to freeze now that its getting cold). I also tend to look for cardigans, leggings, and footwear for her. The selection of bright, sparkly, light up rain boots is pretty impressive at the thrift store. A good soapy scrub and air dry and they’re good as new.

2. Baskets for organizing toys. Mostly ones that are the right shape to fit on my living room shelves, handles are nice so J can carry them, and ones that are slightly unique looking. Concealing the toys in baskets while still making them accessible so J can easily play has been great. Most specifically now I’m looking for wall baskets so I can recreate this storage idea for stuffed animals. I check the baskets for damage before purchasing

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3. Scrapbooking materials. I recently cleaned out the final 6 boxes containing all relics of my childhood that were being stored at my parent's home. It was weird. I’m in a serious purging stage so I hastily kept one or two of my thirty odd childhood journals and threw the rest in the trash. My dad called me and reasoned with me that maybe I had been too hasty in how much I threw away and I realized he was right…there was some important stuff in there. So now I’m in the slow process of creating a scrapbook (scrapbooks?) containing various photos, journal clippings and other childhood talismans. It’s heavy work, reading through old journals and seeing so much angst. But I’ll be glad to have some semblance of those years displayed in a scrapbook. I like looking up scrapbook pages on Pinterest for inspiration and I like this account on YouTube for more scrapbook ideas.

4. Artwork. This was a category I had been neglecting for a while, but I love looking for an old painting or print that fits with the neutral/vintage aesthetic of our home. I recently found the little owl pictured below.

   

5. I want to make J something like this for Christmas, so I found a little thrifted box and a few tiny dollhouse pieces to create a little scene. I’m thinking of it as a tiny travel dollhouse for outings! I also want to make her a drop cloth fort for our dining room table (like this) so I’ll be searching for a large piece of fabric that could work.

6. Neutral Christmas decor. Not wanting to spend on a ton of money on decorations (and not wanting to shop big box stores with tons of plastic waste) has limited me in the past on really going off on Christmas decorations, but now that thrifting is back in my life, I want it all. I also invested in Halloween decorations from the thrift store this year. I procured mostly neutral pumpkins and skeletons. I think it turned out pretty cute (pictured below). Now I’m looking for any little Christmas houses to line up on our window sills for Christmas. I found this cute house ornament (also pictured below) recently.

   

   

   

7. Other categories that I always check even if I’m not specifically looking for something include: handmade pottery (I scored 8 handmade salad plates so far and four bowls, as well as a mix of Ellinger wooden bowls), toys, sheets that can be used to sew dresses out of (floral prints especially), crafting materials in general, furniture (I’d love if I could find something like these stools), and men’s sweaters (for me and my man).

   How about you? Do you thrift? :)

   .

Perhaps in reaction to my last essay, but also in reflection of what has been going well this summer, I bring you today’s post. Absolutely inspired by my friend Ani of Close Knit’s Substack with a similar title. I can’t tell you how much I look forward to reading Ani’s writing when I’m notified that she’s published a new Substack. Highly recommend!

p.s. If anyone is interested in an update about my husband, here it is: all of the scary medical tests came back negative. We are so relieved, but still unnerved because we don’t know for certain what caused the accident. James continues to heal physically and emotionally.

Okay, onto late summer glimmers…

1. evening nature walks with James and J. This is a chance for us to turn the cartoons off and convene with our community. J carries around this vintage Liz Clairborn mini purse that I thrifted and picks up rocks, sticks and pine cones and hopes that literally anyone comes out of their house so we can talk to them. Like, anyone. I seriously can’t believe how bold and confident my little girl is.

2. my attempts to reduce my social media scrolling by doing literally anything else (lol) including listening to Grouper on repeat, sitting on the porch, reading, listening to audio books while doing house work, writing. etc. I’m not social media free, believe me, but I can tell the difference in my mental health when I engage more intentionally with the analog world.

1. flowers. just, like, I can’t get enough of flowers these days and it’s not that remarkable, but I really used to be underwhelmed by people’s love of cut flowers. Like I always liked them but couldn’t understand how people just LOVED them especially because they die fairly soon after acquiring them. Now I go to City Floral where they have a cut flower section and I put together my own chaotic bouquet of whatever speaks to me and it brings me a stupid amount of joy. Also been picking through our overgrown yard and clipping some yarrow and identifying what plants are back there and thriving despite our neglect.

2. When I come across little signs (they’re everywhere) of J’s childhood unfolding like these little collections from one of our nature walks and evidence of her inventions process. I also will never get tired of tiny shoes.

3. Winston sunning himself and just generally being a creature who knows how to honor his needs.

4. J slept at her grandparents a couple of weekends ago and James and I had an at home date just the two of us with pasta + bolognese sauce purchased fresh from the farmer’s market that morning.

   

5. J’s sink baths. We have a decently sized (like, large enough to fit a 35 lb toddler) kitchen sink and on the nights when I put her to bed we put all the dishes away, I scrub the sink clean and we do a sink bath. The other night we blasted Joni Mitchel and lit candles and I can do little chores while she splashes and plays.

6. The freaking Denver Botanic Gardens. What an absolute gem of a place which everyone in Denver knows, but so often I go there as an activity with J, but lately I’ve recently I stopped there by myself for a little nervous system deposit. Flowers. More flowers.

7. Attending my friend Caitlyn’s absolutely stunning bridal shower where we got to eat dinner together and then make floral arrangements from local flowers. So, yeah, more flowers.

8. Realizing my daughter is so totally her own person and that person is so unbelievable social, confident, and self assured. I think I sort of thought that I gave birth to myself initially and I was waiting to see/feel J’s anxiety (which still could come), but I watched J spontaneously jump into a game of tag with some neighborhood kids (some of who were much older) recently and I was floored.

9. Considered hiring a body positivity coach after months of this unhealthy cycle of being fine with my body and then hating my body, but then getting overwhelmed by the price of said coaching. So I have been on my own journey of body acceptance and intuitive eating by just inundating myself with podcasts/instagram accounts and audio books about health at every size. It’s totally been working. One resource that I’ve enjoyed a lot is the podcast Don’t Salt My Game.

Happy back to school time friends. I hope you find the glimmers.

So six weeks ago, my husband, James, set out on an 80 mile bike ride. He and I tag team parenting pretty equally, so our plan was that I would take J in the morning so he could leave early and ride and then he would come home around lunchtime and take J for the better part of the afternoon.

As J and I neared our home after our morning activities, I was so tired and hot and overstimulated, so decided to call James to check in and let him know we were close to home. No answer. Unusual. Actually…enraging. My rage only grew as we got closer to closer to home and I continued to call James with no sucesss. He didn’t answer. J and I got home and I plunked her down on the couch with her cartoons so that I could go outside and rage call James again. At this point, I would say he was about fifteen minutes late and I was mad. Big mad. But after a few more calls, I started to get worried.

Then I remembered that I can track his location. So I opened the Find My app on my phone and could see his little dot on the map, but no movement. Now, if you are familiar with the Find My app then you know that sometimes it can be a little bitch and not update properly. So in my mind, either he had stopped (but why?) or the stupid app wasn’t working. I kept staring at his little dot wondering if I should put J in the car and drive to the dot and then, in a stroke of genius, I decided to tap on the nearest business to the dot that was supposed to be my husband and, wouldn’t you know it, the business where my little dot now resided had a teeny, tiny picture of a stethoscope? When I tapped that stethoscope, the words “emergency department” popped up as my own footing became unstable and I felt cortisol dumping into my body. I’ve only ever felt absolute and true terror one other time in my life. It was when my daughter was born and I pushed her out too fast (funny since I labored for 48 hours) and the doctors told my husband to move and she was blue and her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and both of her arms like “suspenders.” They put her on my chest for one second and then they clipped her cord right away and took her from me. But didn’t they know that they clipped the only cord that held us together and didn’t they know that the golden hour where a mom gets to relish in her hard work and put her new baby on her chest and that it’s really good for bonding and can help with nursing? But they took her from me and she was gone and no one would talk to me. And I wondered what it would be like to have to call my parents to tell them that the baby had died. That sort of question tha once you think it, once it’s a real option because your baby was blue and now she’s gone and no one will answer you, never really leaves you again. So for ten minutes, the NICU team resuscitated my baby as the doctors sewed up my body which had torn in half and one of the doctors put her arm on my knee in the most casual of ways while staring into the abyss of my body and, still, no one ever told me what was happening with my baby.

That’s the only other time I’ve ever been that afraid.

Because now my husband was in the ER and obviously not well enough to call to tell me that he had an accident, but was okay. So in my mind what happened to him was serious enough to not have the wherewithal to think “my wife just felt the earth shift underneath her because I didn’t come home and she must be so scared so I have to call her.” So I called my best friend who answered and I told her James was at the ER, but not answering his phone and what do I do, but she was out of state. I called another friend who didn't answer. I finally thought, “I have to get to the hospital and I can’t drive so let me see if one of my neighbors is home.” My friends, my poor dear neighbors who had this crazed woman (me) cross the threshold into their backyard so I could ask them for help. I know it doesn’t make total sense to be worried that I traumatized my neighbors, but I know I did and it still bothers me because later when all of this was over they said they couldn’t sleep that night and they sort of hung their heads low which I’ll never forget. It makes sense that I traumatized them because there I was begging to a god that I don’t even believe in that please, please don’t let my husband be dead. I begged and begged and begged for anyone to tell me that my husband was okay and I wasn’t graceful and I wasn’t pretty and I was certainly not dignified.

So then J was scooped up by my one neighbor and taken to the trampoline (lol) where she had the time of her life while the other neighbor ushered me into her car and took me to the hospital.

Now let you me tell you being on the other side of this and the same is true for when my daughter was born…in these emergency scenarios, you see the absolute best side of people. The absolute best parts humanity come out when you ask for help and it’s probably what got me through and it made me believe in the good in people again.

So my neighbor drove me the hospital and I babbled on in a panicked monologue with god or with no one and then I swore to my neighbor that I wouldn’t even fight with my husband anymore if it meant I got to keep him. While this was happening, I called the ER where he was. No one answered for a while, but then someone did. I spit his name out and they said “he’s here, he had accident, and he’s not dead.”

So obviously I felt better knowing he wasn’t dead, but I had hung up and realized I didn’t know if he was paralyzed or brain dead or what the extent of his injuries were.

We arrived at the hospital which was an absolute labrynth of a place (seriously, the ER was on the third floor) and I got to his room and there he was in a neck brace looking like he’d been in a terrible accident, because he had been. I proceeded to ask for a sick bag because I thought I was going to lose my lunch, as they say, and then had a panic attack (a real one) as one nurse got me a chair and another made me some tea. What is it about tea that is supposed to make you feel better? It does, but why? Someone else told me I had to be strong for my husband because he needed me now and I thought that was a strange thing to say to a woman given the circumstance. James doesn’t remember any of this anyway; not the accident, not the ambulance ride and not his time in the ER. So I’m glad I got to let my panic out, I guess, because it was real and it uncontrollable and better out than in, as they say.

Here’s what we now know about the accident: James went on a really long bike ride (one that he built up to…he had done 65 miles the weekend before and had had tons of water and food) and someone saw him crash and called 911. No broken bones, probably a concussion. I thought that the emotional trauma and the injuries from the actual accident where going to be the hardest part of this experience, but we didn't realize was that it was only the beginning. The thing is that they think he might have fainted and then crashed, instead of crashing and then losing consciousness. So now he’s been in extensive testing to rule out all of the possible and terrifying reasons why someone would faint since he’s had one other fainting episode. His brain is checking out fine, but they’re still testing his heart. It’s been a waiting game of a different sort now, more like a low level emergency. It’s that constant pit in your stomach, the pink elephant in the room, the “I wish I could be present in this moment, but my husband might be sick” kind of feeling now. So we’re not exactly thriving at the moment, but it is getting easier to manage.

So, since I think it’s nice, let me name the things I’ve learned in this experience:

1. Like I said above, the best parts of humanity emerge in these situations. We’re all either subconsciously or consciously conspiring to keep each other alive. My neighbors dropped everything to help me and I didn’t even know them that well. People are good.

2. I’m actually way better in a fight or flight scenario than I thought I would be. I felt the fear immediately (instead of disassociating like I did during my daughter’s birth) and sprung into action.

3. Location services are your friend.

4. Children are resilient.

5. Try to only focus on what you're being told is true in that exact moment, not what *could* happen.

6. It is not helpful to enter into despair about what *could* be wrong medically before it has been confirmed. Try to be present and positive thinking matters.

7. Ask for help, accept it when it comes. You are deserving of support and it’s not a “favor.” People care about you.

8. You could worry about your husband having a heart attack, but he could also be struck by lightening tomorrow, so why worry?

9. I can do hard things.

10. I’m so, so lucky.

11. I love my family.

From a quick glance, you can see a few themes come through that many people deem “classical” wardrobe items: tons of black, white button-down shirts and dresses, black shoes, and a touch of denim. But what I love about these specific items is that they feel like the fit with my personal style as well: I love oversized pieces, things that are a bit unique, pieces that are sculptural and a little different, but still wearable enough for everyday.

Before I go into the details of these items, I’d like to share with you something I’m on the fence about. I have a few pieces from H&M’s premium line and COS on my list which are both fast fashion brands. I have not made these purchases and I’m still not sure I’m super comfy purchasing them or talking about them here, but a couple of thoughts on this issue since I tend to think of things in black and white and most of us live in the grey area. I focused on H&M’s premium line and COS because the materials are higher quality than other fast fashion and therefore better for the environment. I also think it’s worth noting that slow fashion pricing is out of reach for many people, so one road to bettering our impact is choosing wisely from the options that are accessible. Interestingly, while perusing Rachel Comey’s website, I noticed quite a bit of polyester which is terrible for the environment. The fast fashion pieces I’m sharing from H&M and COS the cotton/linen which biodegrade way faster than polyester.

Alright let’s get into it!

Here’s a list sort of in the order in which they appear from top to bottom and by category.

Shoes

1. The ugly shoe will always be a winner in my book and I love the idea of these with pretty much every outfit this spring and summer. (COS).

2. Absolutely in love with these sandals from St. Agni. Not sure how comfy those straps would be, but I think they’re a nice dressy option for everyday flip flops.

3. These are a Harry Makes It Up find. If you don’t know this YouTube channel, I highly recommend it for makeup and classic wardrobe vlogs. I absolutely despise wearing heals, but it can be hard sometimes to feel dressy enough at events in flats. Enter the Toteme Flip Flop Heel. Super cute kitten heel (super 90s) and a bit of a nod to the casual by way of being a flip flop. These aren’t really super high on my list because I do see them for more dressy events which I rarely go to, but I was at a gala a few weekends ago and it felt like a real scramble trying to find shoes that work. These might be a good high quality option. (Since writing this article, I have purchased a pair of these shoes secondhand from Poshmark! I will share more on that soon.)

Dresses

1. Long live the t-shirt dress…for real. I can imagine this worn in so many different ways. With flips flops or sneaks for casual and with the Toteme heels and a bold necklace for dressy. The “little black dress” is sorely missing from my wardrobe at the moment. (Kowtow by way of Cedar & Hyde).

2. Another great black dress from Kowtow. I love the length and the interesting detail at the waist with the adjustable ties. Kowtow is definitely a brand to follow, they walk the line so perfectly between classic and interesting.

3. A white button down shirt dress is another wardrobe classic. I love how this one is a mini length which feels sexy, but still oversized which feels comfy and more me. (COS.)

4. A black button down shirt dress would be another great staple and I love the length on this one. (Rachel Comey).

A white button-down is just a globally awesome piece that I don’t have in my wardrobe. I could make one, but it’s quite labor intensive and these are both really nice options. Imagine it tucked into jeans in spring and then linen shorts in summer. Classic, classic, classic all the way. The first option I shared is from COS (similar) and the second is from H&M.

Denim

1. I’ve always been a fan of a denim on denim look (a Canadien tuxedo), but I’m finding myself lacking in denim shirt options that I love. I like the popover style of this one and the front patch pocket. COS.

2. This is a dream piece and not available new, but it’s the Toteme oversized jacket from a few years ago. I saw one on The Real Real a few weeks ago and hoped it would come down even more in price, but someone snatched it up. If I see it again, I think I’ll have to go for it!

That’s it for now! I’ve been writing this article for a few weeks now so it’s worth noting that I’ve made some purchases in line with my classic wardrobe mission. I’ve found some really nice simple button-downs while thrifting, one striped and one denim. I also took the plunge and purchased this dress from Black Crane. I’ll share some styled outfits with these items soon!

Friends of mine just had their FOURTH child. I couldn’t stop myself when I told that I was envious of their ability to feel like they could add more children to their family when I don’t feel ready to have a second child. Every birth announcement that comes through sends a wave of doubt through my body. And like my biological clock is ticking since I’m nearing the end of my fertile years.

The thing is that I just don’t know if adding a second child to the family is a good idea for me, my temperament and my husband’s temperament. But what I also don’t know, and what sometimes keeps me up at night, is whether my birth trauma stole my ability (mentally) to have a second baby. And that if I hadn’t had such a hard experience, maybe I’d already have that second baby in arms.

Parents who have experienced birth trauma tend to understand this aspect of my reticence to have a second. It’s quite simple the following: With a traumatic birth, with that fear I felt when J was being resuscitated, that fear changes you. That fear, that thought that I might not be bringing my baby home with me, changed me. Once you walk through that door, you never quite walk back out. Or you do, but you aren’t the same person as when you walked through that door. I don’t live in constant fear anymore the way I did during the first few weeks of J’s life, but there’s a small part of me that always imagines what *could* have happened. And what could happen if I decide to do again. Thank god for therapy and anti-depressants and trauma work, amiright? Because otherwise I’d still be trapped in that same fear cycle that I was immediately postpartum.

A large part of me also knows how much I love having an only child. I do not thrive in chaos. My household is lively without being super overstimulating. The three of us (James, J and I) are in such a beautiful rhythm. We have so many more moments of joy than struggle these days. I have space and patience for J’s tantrums. I have time to research parenting tactics and address issues that my daughter is having with lots of energy. Having one child means more time for my hobbies and creative endeavors. I have the space and energy to go the gym, take baths, watch TV, knit sweaters, and we all sleep! It means more time with my partner. It would mean more resources for J and her future.

I also know that not all sibling relationships are happy ones.

The truth is that I’m not sure I could be the parent I want to be with a second child because my mental health was that impacted postpartum.

Being one and done could be a good life because it is a good life.

And yet, I can imagine how great it would be to have a second child. To have another chance to grow another human in my body. To have a chance to maybe not have the first ten minutes of that baby’s life to be that harrowing. To hold that baby, a baby that I made, again. The joy of that 6 month to 12 month time period. Crawling for the first time, first steps, first giggle. The joy that I feel right now with J, but multiplied.

There’s a part of me that feels weird about choosing to have an only child. I worry that my daughter will be spoiled. I worry she’ll be lonely. I’m worried I’ll regret it one day. I worry that we’re being short sighted and that later things will get easier and I’ll regret not pushing myself to have another one.

Many people have only children. I know that there’s no evidence to support the myth that only children are spoiled or lonely or just plain weird. I know I know I know.

I’m trying or remember that all of this will make sense at some point, that if we decide to be one and done, that that will be a good life. And if we decide to have another, that will be good, too.

But which good life should I choose?

1. (source) I realize that this is not simply a picture of a white t-shirt, but I like the way the white t-shirt peaks out from underneath the sweater.

2. (source) Love this classic look with a menswear inspired trouser.

3. (source) As you might remember, I recently knit a black sweater vest inspired by Babaa’s no24 vest so this look spoke to me.

4. (source) Not exactly a white tee but look how nice it looks tucked into vintage jeans with some old sneaks.

5. (source) Clean and crisp.

So after gathering inspiration I was looking for white t-shirts with the following criteria: thick fabric that’s not at all translucent, nice drape (not too clingy, but not too oversized), a true white color (no beige or gray white), no distressing or vintage feel, and the length needed to be slightly cropped that it could easily be tucked into high waisted pants.

Easy right? I took an Instagram poll and gathered some brand suggestions from my community. The first batch of t-shirts are I ordered were from le bon shoppe. I ordered five options in the hopes that one t-shirt would work out. While I liked the fit and the style of most of the t-shirts that I received, the majority of le bon shoppe’s offerings seem to have a very worn in quality. A few t-shirts had intentional distressing along the collar and others had unique sleeve designs. None felt like they fit the criteria I outlined above so they all went back. Next I placed an order with Cos and was so much happier with the outcome. I found a really good option that I want to share with you. It’s the Clean Cut T-shirt. The fabric is nice and thick, I like the high neckline (for the sweater idea), it skims the body without being too oversized and is a great length to tuck.

I think it’s a winner. Me and the shirt. :)

-do less

-rest more (and guilt free)

-no dieting or food restriction

-move your body

-eat intuitively (tune in...what sounds good? Eat that.)

-go outside

-buy pants that fit, get rid of pants that don’t fit

-go to therapy

-don't try to change people

And because sometimes visuals can be good, too, here’s a vision board of sorts for the year.

The 2024 vision: Embrace my ever changing body, movement, rest, confidence, continue to find joy in my home and find more ways to incorporate play with my little family.

all images found via Pinterest. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Honestly, Thanksgiving and the mini fall break from school that J had ended up being some of the most joyful (and tantrum free!) days we’ve had recently. It was perhaps the best Thanksgiving I can remember, which brings tears to my eyes as I write this. It was more than the lack of tantrums that struck me. The success of that day went deeper than that. My family and I had a holiday together (with my parents) where the absence of my brother and our issues didn’t feel like they were at the forefront. I also saw my husband interacting with my parents in a way that I hadn’t seen in a while. With less latent anger. With joy. Time seems to be making things better. This year is the first year that I’ve felt the benefit of my decision to go no contact with my brother. I got to enjoy my parents, who I love deeply, without making myself uncomfortable by being around my brother. This was peace. This was freedom. This was joy. I ended up sobbing for happiness on Sunday. Just absolute gratitude flooded my body and I felt like all of this pain was worth it.

Anyways, on to the next holiday on the horizon: Christmas. Like I mentioned earlier, I’ve been making a more concerted effort to decorate this year. I wanted to share what I have going so far!

My daughter really loved decorating the tree this year using her little step stool. I was lucky to come across enough non-glass ornaments between ones my mom gave me from my childhood and a few that I purchased from the thrift store/Target. We hung a star garland made by my Instagram bud Suzie and I found more brass candlestick holders at the antique mall. On Thanksgiving we hunted for dried branches which I’m planning to arrange throughout the house. I got one of these beautiful wreaths from my friend Caitlyn’s shop (Conifer) and it has replaced the hung baskets that used to be above my dining room table.

Other things

-I’ve been trying to cut back on scrolling Instagram so I’ve been listening to the Sugar Calling podcast. Cheryl Strayed is the host and the podcast was recorded in 2020. Strayed calls various authors and discusses a whole range of topics. I’ve really been enjoying it and it’s also interesting to reflect back on the start of the pandemic. There aren’t that many episodes so I would love to know what podcasts you’ve been listening to.

-Revisited the work of Kate Baer last night (and many nights before) and this is still one of my favorite poems about motherhood. I’ve sent it to every new mother I know.

-I finished my black Babaa inspired sweater vest and I’m now working on a woven version for Eli & Barry.

-Hopped back on my chartreuse/golden yellow Cline sweater project. I think Brooklyn Tweed Shelter is my favorite yarn of all time.

-Got some new tattoos.

-The sweetest and only Christmas album I truly like.

Until next time.

My daughter turned 3 in September and I’ve had multiple friends tell me that age 3 has been harder for them than age 2. I guess it’s too soon to tell exactly what this age is like, but her evening tantrums these days are quite literally bringing me to my edges.

Last night it was the same song and dance of recent tantrums which can only be summed up as “I want mommy to do it.” But my husband, James, and I take equal caretaking roles when it comes to our daughter. So her bath time and her bedtime ritual is something we all take part in and dad performs tasks (hair brushing, teeth brushing, jammies, etc) as much as mom. But recently there’s no amount of prep work, choice giving and boundary work we can do before our evening begins because bath time hits and my daughter is in a rage.

My daughter. A tiny, writhing, swirling muscle of fury. Her little eyes bore into mine and her gaze darkens as she screams, “NO!” in our faces. She twists and she yells and she hits and she kicks. Gigantic tears roll down her cheeks. There are nights we can perform our caretaking duties and find ways to co-regulate with her so that she eventually comes out on the other side of the tantrum, and then there are nights like last night. These nights are just destined to be chaotic and hard.

Last night, the despair and fury on my daughter’s face did something to me. It probably most simply sent me into a state of disregulation and sensory overwhelm (I clearly had reached my limit), but her face in its despair singed into my soul and burned into my memory. My little girl. How my heart ached seeing her in such psychological turmoil. I logically knew she was safe, but there's something about seeing your child that upset that just impacts you.

When I think about her despair, while fleeting given the scenario last night (a warm and cozy bed was always on the horizon for her, promising her sleep and respite) I can’t help but imagine the true and impactful despair she will feel in her life. When will someone in her life hurt her? Will she recover? Who will break her heart? What if I’m not setting her up for success? What if I’m doing it all wrong? Why can’t I help her in these moments when there’s so much despair?

Cooler minds might chalk up last night to a rough night parenting a toddler and have that be that. And sometimes I can do that. But other times, these events spark this deep and real heaviness and fear, because I know that life is full of pain. I know, too, that it’s not useful to protect her or imagine her a world where nothing negative ever befalls her (challenges are the spice of life after all). I won't deny her the opportunity for pain. But my mama heart sometimes can’t unsee my tiny, perfect daughter in the depths of sadness without thinking, “but how are we supposed to do this?” “This” being the weight of parenthood. The weight of shaping a life. It’s enough to make me want to get back and bed and pull the sheets over my head.

Luckily, like every morning, the sun came up and as I opened her door her tiny voice rang through the silence and she shouted, “Mommy!” Followed by an enthusiastic giggle. I felt myself smile knowing that we got to do it all over again despite the weight of it all.

-what should I tell I tell my daughter about you when she gets older?

-are you afraid?

-what made you happiest in your life?

-what was the hardest thing you had to go through?

-is there a time period in your life that you’d like to return to for a day?

-what do you think happens when we die?

-what did you worry about the most that never came true? 

-are you lonely?

-what do you regret?

-why are you cruel?

-where does it hurt?

-who has been your friend the longest and why?

-what mistakes did you make?

-what was the best thing you did?

-who do you miss?

-do you believe in god?

-what's your happiest memory?

-what’s your earliest memory?

-what was it like when you were growing up?

-do you think there’s an afterlife?

-do you think you’ll be reunited with grandpa?

Things I wish I could tell my grandma at the end of her life, but won’t:

-I know you’re worried about us. we’re all going to be okay.

-you’ll live on inside of us, inside of our children and our children’s children.

-you did the best you could.

-you broke certain generational curses so we could break even more.

-thank you. thank you. thank you.

Two years. Two years of freedom. Two years of finally feeling safe. Two years of devastation. Two years of my parents disapproving of my decision. Two years of fighting until I was absolutely broken to be seen and understood by my parents. Two years of focusing on my little family, my husband and daughter. Two years of healing my inner child who did not feel safe around my brother. Two years of no longer needing to white knuckle it through family dinners. Two years of not needing to worry about my daughter seeing someone blackout drunk. Two years of spending holidays without my extended family. Two years of wondering if I'm being too dramatic. Two years of knowing I made the right decision. Two years of finally being free. 

Within this time period, there has been a lot of conflict, but holidays in particular have been tough. My parents are like the children of divorce splitting time between my family and my brother’s family. When I do see my parents at this time of year, I feel my brother’s absence even more than normal. Sometimes the tension of the situation makes me feel like keeping holidays just amongst my husband and daughter. And yet, my daughter is crazy about my parents and I don't want to deprive her, or my parents, of that experience. 

One way I'm trying to bring joy back into my holidays this season is by decorating our home. I have never been that enthusiastic about holiday decorations. Christmas is cozy, but I've never really gone all out with lights and decor. I decided to change that this year. The lights we put up this Christmas will be a small way to light the darkness. I’ll be creating a tunnel of hope in my grief. Creating magic for my daughter and special memories as our family of 3 feels like a balm for my soul. And knowing that our little family unit, the family I chose to marry and that we created, is safe and stable reminds me that not all is lost. I might not be sitting at a huge table with my family of origin this holiday, but my table hosts those who are good for my soul. 

So here’s some cozy imagery that I’m using as inspiration for creating joy this fall and winter.

(all image via Pinterest)

Other fall/winter plans:

-I’m somehow quite on top of holiday gift making this year. Some of you have already seen this adorable doll (I found the pattern at the thrift store, but Amazon carries it) that I made my daughter. I made the doll’s dress functional so she can take it on and off and I plan on making the other wardrobe pieces in this pattern. I also found rattan doll furniture at the thrift store and a miniature antique tea set. It’s been such a joy putting this gift together for her. I also plan on finally sewing this shirt for my husband in black linen since the green version I made him is his favorite gardening shirt.

-I just bought a new pair of Glerups after mine developed holes and they should be delivered today.

-I’ve welcomed an additional seamstress for my business into the mix! She’s actually someone who worked for me about a year ago and she now has availability to help with overflow orders. She’ll be sewing up your gingham linen orders in November.

-Hoping to take the majority of December to rest and make myself some wardrobe pieces. I’ve been sourcing vintage table clothes and textiles to piece together to make this top. I’m in the homestretch of my black Babaa inspired vest and I’m looking forward to continuing my mustard colored Cline sweater (it will be the third time I’ve knit one). Hoping I can also knock out this balaclava for my daughter in lilac.

-I purchased my daughter a German advent calendar from this Etsy shop which my mom used to get me when I was little.

-We had a cold snap in Denver last weekend and I noticed that our yard is ready for dried clipping season. Can’t wait to find pretty dead things to arrange in vases around the house.

-Always enjoying the cozy artwork of Lore Pemberton.

-I purchased my daughter a simple stocking and I’m planning on embroidering all of our names on our stockings this year.

-My husband and I are re-instituting date night.

What are your joys and sorrows this season? How are you bringing in the light?

-Exercised without any intention to lose weight

-Cut my brother out of my life (felt proud and broken and free)

-Refused to discuss my brother with my parents

-Stopped family therapy with my parents

-Grieved my family of origin situation

-Learned to enjoy my parents again despite the conflict with my brother

-Let my husband feed the baby

-Split childcare duties with my husband

-Told my friends when I was drowning

-Turned my phone to “do not disturb”

-Muted/unfollowed people on Instagram

-Sleep trained my daughter

-Went to therapy

-Went to EMDR

-Stopped EMDR

-Put my daughter in full time daycare

-Ate intuitively

-Ate dessert

-Ate dessert in front of my daughter

-Located my chosen family

-Had Thanksgiving with chosen family

-Went to dance class

-Told some people actually how I am when they’ve asked (even if I'm not good)

-Told other people nothing at all (learned to not always let people have access to me)

To be continued and what’s on your list?

But it felt like this number of mistakes in quick secession meant something. I felt like my seamstress would think I’m an idiot. I felt like this was a sign that I can’t handle running a business. I felt like it said something about who I am as a person or about how I’m doing on a personal level. Like I’m not managing my anxiety as well as I thought it was. I couldn’t go into work for the last two days due to my foul mood and begrudgingly stayed home to make some weak attempts at self care, hating myself along the way.

My daughter occasionally makes the error of saying she’s sorry when she makes an innocent mistake that doesn’t hurt anybody. Like when she accidentally knocks down the block tower she's building. While seemingly small, this crushes me when she does it. If she does not harm someone, she does not need to apologize. So we decided to teach her something else she could say when she makes a mistake and we came up with the affirmation, “Oops! I’m human.” First of all, it is adorable when this phrase exits her mouth. But it also makes me swell up with pride and hope that she might be so bold in her life to try things out of her comfort zone which will undeniably come along with mistake making. That she’ll come to know that mistakes are a part of life. That no one who lives boldly escapes making mistakes.

I can believe it so wholeheartedly when my daughter utters this precious affirmation, one that we taught her, but when it comes to myself I can sometimes be my own biggest bully. I would never support my daughter talking to herself the way I talk to myself sometimes. I don’t talk myself like that all the time, but when things start to built up (mistake after mistake) I start to doubt myself.

I guess she and I aren’t that different when you look at the facts. I’ve had a lot more orders recently since I was brave enough to pivot my business and open up the made-to-order option again. And for the first time without in-house employees to do it. It doesn’t mean anything that my mind is scrambled (I mean, why wouldn’t it be? I’m juggling work and my mental and physical health and raising a tiny human and checking in with my husband and then also trying to find time to connect with friends). And my business is up over 50% this year from last year. So maybe mistakes are the price of growth. Maybe I can let this go.

But can someone tell me where my wallet is?

Let’s get back on the topic of less permanent ways of adorning oneself: my utterly wholesome pursuit of vests. I thought I was only interested in sweater vests at the moment (most specifically this version from Babaa), but then I saw this little number and it’s opened up my mind to vests in various materials. I was also messaging Winona of Green Matters Natural Dye Company because we discovered that we are both currently knitting vests and I’m obsessed with the one she’s making. Definitely on my list. Currently I’m knitting my second Veer vest by Quince & Co per my Instagram community’s recommendation. I’m trying to replicate that vest no. 24 from Babaa. I knit a version in cream that’s cute, but didn't turn out quite like the Babaa one. So now I’m knitting a black one in a smaller size with smaller ribbing. I will keep you posted on my progress!

I have made a couple of slow fashion purchases this fall after selling some clothes that didn’t fit anymore. It’s also strangely easy to never purchase anything for yourself while parenting a tiny human. So I’ve been trying to not go overboard on purchases for my toddler and treat myself occasionally, too. I sized up in the much beloved Deiji Studios 03 set, this time in brick. It’s a good one and I’ve already worn the shirt out and about tucked into jeans. My big ticket item that I invested in was a buoy bag in black from Are Studio. It sits beside me right now as I write this. I also have a pair of Sarah jeans by Rudy Jude on the way and I snagged this oversized quilted number from Sunchild.

Other fashion-y things I’m currently interested in: quilted floral print, finding the perfect coffee table for my living room, designing quilted pieces for Eli & Barry, curating the perfect earring stack, and elevating my loungewear game. How about you?

Until next time.

Let me back up a bit. After my traumatic birth, my early postpartum period was filled with what I can only describe as relentless panic. I felt this urgent need to ask everyone and anyone if my daughter was okay even though we were both home and safe. The adrenaline and fear from the ten minutes I thought my daughter was dead made it so I couldn't sleep even when my baby slept. Friends and neighbors dropped off meals and when I looked at the food, my stomach churned. When I would try to sleep and my alarm would go off at that 3 hour mark from the last time I fed the baby and I would immediately start dry heaving. My friend came to visit (one of the few people I allowed inside my house during the pandemic with a newborn) and she was visibly alarmed at how quickly I lost my baby weight. I was so busy trying to survive that I could barely even think about whether or not I was losing weight too quickly. No doctors mentioned anything to me during the few postpartum check ups that I had. So I became very tiny very quickly and it’s easy for it to happen when you feel like your head is barely above water. This was a time period of wearing old sweatpants and milk soaked nursing bras and wondering what it would be like to wash and blow dry hair and maybe put on one swipe of mascara just to feel like a human again.

Postpartum did eventually improved for me around 4 weeks because sleep sort of became a necessity (it turns out that you really, actually need sleep and your doctors are pretty adamant about that if you’re as anxious/depressed as I was that you need to piece together 8 hours a day even while taking care of a newborn) and my husband started to take night feedings.

When my appetite did return, I paid absolutely zero attention to what I was eating  While I was nursing, I was voraciously hungry and ate anything and everything and my body remained small. I eventually decided to wean my daughter at 15 months, which was a challenge and its own because my daughter was really digging nursing still and she would lift up my shirt at any given moment for a snack. This was sort of impacting my ability to socialize in public, not that I ever had that ability. But I was eager to have my body feel like my own again. I was amazed at how quickly my postpartum cycle returned when I weaned. It was literally in a matter of days that my breasts were aching and I thought it was milk, but it was actually my cycle returning.  From the point and for the subsequent weeks, I noticed that my waistline started to grow as my body adjusted to not nursing anymore. I started to hate my body as my pant size went up multiple sizes. I didn't feel at home in my body at all. And even though when I was smaller it was because I was struggling, I wished that I could maintain that tinier size without having to nurse. Which is honesty pretty fucked up and not the way I wanted to view my body.

So I bought new pants.

And I got rid of all of the clothes that didn’t fit.

The number one thing I want is for my body is for my daughter to know that her body is good. That might sound odd because it’s my body, but that would honestly be my goal. It makes the most sense to me to love or at least be neutral about my body so my daughter has a fighting chance at having a healthy relationship to her own body. I want her to grow up in a house where we eat everything. Where we move our bodies in ways that feel good. I want her to know that our bodies are tools and that it is not our job to be pretty.

My little girl, we're too busy to make ourselves small.

There's so much more to work towards like having fun, learning and feeling safe. I don't want my daughter to think that her primary goal in life is to shrink. Raising a daughter in a society where disordered eating is the norm means dressing your body in its current form is a way to challenge our culture that wants you to make yourself small. Buying pants that fit versus dieting is a way to say “fuck the patriarchy.” Getting dressed can be a revolution, a loud or quiet cry that says “I’m here and I won't make myself small for anyone.” For any other mamas out there who are wondering who the person is they're looking at when they look in the mirror and feeling their thighs rub together while they chase tiny toddlers and just not feeling like they know how to dress their current bodies, I'm here with you and I am in flux with you. I am learning with you and you deserve to feel at home in your body.

And fuck the patriarchy that wants you to be smaller.