For whatever reason, I subtly avoided pink well into my teen and adult years, and it became so automatic that I didn’t notice it until I realized that I had very little of the color in my wardrobe. But yesterday I remedied that issue when I thrifted this kind of amazing dress, which has everything a girl could want — polka dots, a swingy skirt, an elastic waistline, and an 80’s-does-50’s flair — and pink has officially made it back into my vast lineup of dresses. I do have this dusty rose 1970’s gown, but it’s not something I’d wear every day and while I adore it, the color isn’t my first pick.
This polka-dotted glory of a dress, though, I will wear well into the summer until my belly stretches far enough that it’s impossible, and perhaps even then a bit longer.
I thought it fitting to wear pink today, too, on the day marking the exact middle of my pregnancy; 20 weeks in, 20 weeks to go. In four and a half months, I will be holding a baby girl in my arms — my very own, for the first time — and I already know that she will be so inundated by the color that has somehow been marked as her gender’s identifying shade that she will probably come to avoid it just as much as I did when I was small.
Dress, scarf, belt, and shoes, thrifted | earrings, grandma’s.
I don’t know. I always wish I had longer hair when it’s shorter, and shorter hair when it’s longer, and I’m pregnant and it’s hard to make decisions when you’re pregnant.
In the end, hair does grow. So there’s that. And most days I end up shoving my hair into a bun because it’s too unruly to deal with. And I really do hate brushing long hair. I might have talked myself into this. I guess time will tell.
Thoughts?
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