Clothing Guilt

Yes, yes - the saying goes "Nine months up, nine months down." And yet, I refuse to wait 9 months to return to my former self. I mean, my Gawd! That's a long-ass time to own a body that isn't yours at all.
Slowly moving out of all your clothing and into maternity clothes was difficult at first. How much do you buy? How far ahead do you buy (how big will I get?!.). How much do I want to spend on something I'll wear for 2-3 months? After awhile, I didn't care and I was comfortable with the hand-me-downs mixed in with a few of my new pieces. Once the belly really comes in - you are all right with the world and you don't really fret over fashion. Then the belly gets bigger and your maternity selection decreases. Shirts pop up off your huge belly, your thighs stretch the very boundaries of your pant seams and your underwear becomes restrictive to the point of feeling like you are cut in half when you sit.
You tough it out (or, if you're like me, you treat yourself to one article of new clothing every other week to make it to the end).
Then, ah! You have the baby! The weight is lifted! I can breathe! And, what's this? Bladder capacity that is larger than 1oz? Fantastic!
About two weeks after Eve, I had dropped 23lbs. Fan-freakin'-tastic. I had Rob pull down my packed away clothes. I grabbed the topmost tshirt and thought, "Pants might not fit, but tshirts will!" I only had 5 lbs to go after all.
Nope.
Nothing fits over these enormous tah-tahs.
And to think. I always wanted tah-tahs. Damned, these fun bags aren't fun at all.
Besides, I really hated half my tshirts BEFORE I packed them away. Why was I so anxious to tear back into my old clothes... that I, well, no longer liked? The shirts are all belly-skimming graphic tees. I looked like an overgrown 17-year-old before I was a mom. Now I look like a 30-year-old mother who needs a major reality check. I'm beyond "in denile". I look flat-out stupid and like I don't have a girlfriend in the world (if I did, she would never let me leave the house looking like this).
So, I have been slowly transitioning between the old me (pregnant), the old-old me (overgrown teenager) and the new me (someone who wants to be a hot mom). And, its hard to do when you have no extra cash, extra time to shop... and you're a cheap bastard.
So, I tossed out a few tank tops yesterday. Can you believe 2 of them were from Target over 8 years ago. I last wore them 6 years ago. Why the hell do I hang on to these things?
Two words: clothing guilt.
I cannot part with outdated clothing for 2 reasons: I hardly wore it (or it has "some" life left in it even if I am not going to be the one to revive that life) OR someone bought it for me.
Damn.
I came across sport bras from when I ran... 6 years ago. Winter leggings (to go under winter clothing) that I keep "just in case" a snowball fight breaks out—I last wore them 8 years ago. Tank tops from when I was single—and thinner. Tshirts with tiny wine splashes that maybe no one will notice (and they do... and I respond, "Oh crap! I must have done that at lunch!"). Light colored shorts with worn marks around the waste from all my belts. Socks where my big toe pops out. A pair of brown leather clogs that I told L I would throw away... 3 years ago... cause the raised heel is cracked in half like some rubber fissure (my current boss commented when I busted them out a month ago).
I... need... help.
The saddest part is that I KNOW how to dress myself and I really WANT to dress myself. Its just the cheapness that keeps getting in the way. *sigh*.
I just MAY need to change my ways before returning to work/ post-baby, however. 'Cause my patchwork wardrobe is quite awful and embarrassing.
So, who wants to go shopping? Or at least babysit so I can go.