I have nothing to put

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There’s this big sweater, a pair of leggings or my jogging that I have to wear it religiously every morning. As a kind of mystic ritual that envelops my body soft before you spend another day with mother. But in my eyes, these are not clothes, this is my uniform mom.

I might be repeating myself that my body is a temple, it has made my two little favorite humans, I am a warrior, yada yada yada, my wardrobe, it makes me a finger.

I could avenge it to me playing Marie Kondo, but I may find myself in front of a closet empty, inspires me to have joy.

38 months after the birth of my first, 2 after the second, I still have the air 20 weeks pregnant. Hello the Mom Bod (term pseudo-cool to define a body of mother) !

A part of me has wanted to shout ” YOLO “, and run to spend my next check of QPIP in a session breastshopping. Breastfeeding and online shopping go hand in hand, those who have given birth know all too well.

Yes, I would like to be able to accept cheerfully my new curves and I use it to send to graze the patriarchy and its standards of beauty to the con. Or take the opportunity to start to celebrate my family heritage of women with generous hips.

Obviously, everything that I was able to celebrate in this moment, it is the fact that I still in my jogging pants.

But the size of my ass is not the real problem.

The experience of motherhood has made me realize an important lesson : to keep my sanity, I must retain a certain flexibility at the level of my priorities.

What is the relationship with my Mom Bod, will you tell me ?

Because motherhood is an eternal reshuffling of priorities, and must admit that mine often find themselves at the bottom of the list.

Trying to keep the balance, I find myself in a continuing struggle between what I would like to do and what I really need to survive.

From the moment the small pink lines appear, the personal priorities are inevitably according to the priorities of parenting.

Yes, I would like to get a new hair cut, get a workout in, and maybe even a girls ‘ night on the occasion, but there was still grocery shopping to do, a pile of washing to fold, the baby is drinking continuously, and the oldest is slap a cold… Again !

But the good news is that it is temporary.

Do not go into my jeans, that kid. But 3 years and the dust of maternity behind the tie have proven to me that this kid does not last. Just like colic and lack of sleep (whew !). No, I don’t have time for me, but for those few moments where I pay attention to my post, today I choose to give myself a little break.

One day, my children will be more independent. One day, I will have a little more time for myself and the freedom to prioritize my needs and desires as I please.

But for the moment, I’ll try to find the joy in my Mom Bod can do and in the comfort of my ” uniform mom.” This is Marie Kondo would be proud of me.