Three months after having my son, I stood in front of my closet and felt like I was looking at pieces of a woman I used to know. Dresses that once skimmed my waist stopped halfway up my back. Zippers stalled. Seams pulled.
It isn’t just your body that feels different. It’s your reflection. I was living in surrender. Soft pajamas. Loose tees. Hair in a clip. Days measured by feedings and laundry.
Dresses that once skimmed my waist stopped halfway up my back.
Before the baby, I had travel plans and a calendar full of work calls. Then life narrowed, and I kept telling myself it was only for a while.
Nathan had wanted that narrowing more than I did. He pushed me to quit my job. Every time I mentioned keeping a small client, he pressed his lips together and said, “Eva, why are you making this harder than it needs to be?”
By the time our son arrived, I had stopped asking and started disappearing in ways I didn’t even notice. So when Nathan’s company announced a formal party with spouses invited, something stubborn woke up inside me.
I called my mom, booked her for the evening, then bought the one dress I loved: a champagne-colored silk, simple and clean. It wasn’t magical, but it gave me something I hadn’t felt in months.