The Fashion of a Mother’s Heart
By
Celeste Palermo, copyright 1998
I’ve finally decided to pack all the clothes I’ve outgrown and put them in storage. As my pregnant body blossoms, the last thing I want is to look at a wardrobe I cannot wear. My husband and I are moving, so this helps expedite the process. As I sort through my closet, the jeans are the first to go. Next, I pack the shorts, skirts, tops, and sweaters. Carefully I fold each item and place it into a cardboard box labeled “Pre-Baby Wardrobe.” God only knows when these clothes will fit again. Strangely, this packing is an emotional endeavor. Perhaps my changing hormone levels are the catalyst for my melancholy mood, but I sense it is something more. I feel a tinge of fear, a trickle of apprehension about the changes taking place in my life and the uncharted terrain ahead.
As a college kid, I had to don every trendy item possible, acquiring a wardrobe full of clothing with no true personal flair. Now, as a professional interested in staying within the constraints of my budget, I try to invest in basics with lasting quality, classics that express my own sense of style and personal taste. I have become a picky shopper, hesitant to buy seasonal items or spend hard earned dollars on clothes I will wear just a few times. This has made shopping for maternity clothes my own personal hell. What a frightful process: searching top of the line maternity retailers and secondhand shops to find either exorbitantly expensive outfits or nothing that coincides with my personal sense of taste. After many frustrating shopping trips, I resolved to borrow maternity clothes from friends and family, accessorizing when possible to add my individual pizzazz.
Now as I pack my own garments, I recall when I purchased each sweater and blouse. I think about the once perfect fit of my jeans and the confidence I feel when dressed in a favorite suit. My wardrobe is a part of me. Just like my friends and the sound of my laughter, the clothing I wear helps define who I am. Suddenly, I realize the source of my melancholy. I am worried these clothes will never fit me the same way again, that I will be a different person when I re-open these boxes. As a mother, will I lose the sense of self I have now? I stare at the floor as these questions run amuck in my head.
A swift kick from deep inside my belly shakes loose the doubt that clings to my soul. I smile, realizing the little person inside my uterus has already begun to teach me about life. My fears, though normal, are unfounded; I know when I open these boxes again I will be a different person with changed values and new priorities. I will not lose myself, but instead will gain a greater sense of my calling on this earth.
My glum mood disappears as I tape up the box and stack it with the other items for the movers. I look forward to our new home and more than that, enjoy a feeling of anticipation for this new life soon to join my husband and me. In a few months we will be a family of three. The joy of having a child saturates every cell of my body, leaving no room for “fashion sense” blues. This new person will be someone I can watch grow up, someone I will help develop her own sense of style, and someone who will inevitably teach me much more about life than how to assemble a winning wardrobe.
My body is in a state of metamorphosis, but so is my heart. As my stomach expands, so does the realization that there is more to life than what I have now. I may never again have the luxury of spending twenty minutes deciding what to wear, but instead will spend those precious minutes explaining to a little girl why the sky is blue and how much I love her. Someday, I may help my daughter pick out back-to-school clothes and have to hold my tongue if my sense of personal taste does not agree with her own. However, what I have learned is the clothes in one’s closet can never compare with the fashion of a mother’s heart.
