Skinflint

Thrift is a virtue, sure. And in the current economic climate, never more has everyone felt the need to cut their cloth accordingly. But you've got to know where to draw the line.

Preposterous.
These are supposed to be pyjamas, which also house the capability to double up as a two man sleeping bag. Very nifty. Not. How is God's name am I supposed to learn to walk in those?

Listen Mum, I'm all for growing into things, just not when I'm 26. I think that is above and beyond the realms of reasonability. If you can order a pint at the bar, you shouldn't still be growing into any of the clothes you own. But she won't be told.

For forty six weeks old, I'm one of babyland's more generously proportioned ladies. Pouring my rolling thighs into the Mothercare jeans intended for my age cannot even be contemplated. I am under no illusions about my proportions, but I have come to terms with them. In fact, I like to think of myself as fairly secure in my healthy attitude towards body image. There's plenty of junk in my trunk; my curves are kicking; podge is my pal. Delightfully chubby is the way I roll. 

Yet the garments in my wardrobe wage a woeful ongoing battle with my otherwise well balanced self perception. Ranging from 12-18 month sized attire, right up to 3 year old toddler clobber, that rail of billowing articles serves as an undeniable blow to my confidence, as I'm sure you can imagine. But the generous sizing of said items in attendance are not merely to swathe my present rolls - they are investment in my future outfittings. There's a coat for a child aged 36 months, a dressing gown for two year old boy and a pair of flipflops in there from a Next sale, size 13. I'm a 2.5.

I'm a rational baby Mum. Times are tough. I see the need to need to purchase items slightly too big. But for my own self esteem, for my confidence, for my waning self respect - can we at least agree that, for the oversized ones that do fit, you will cut the labels out, in order to preserve for me just the tiniest shred of modesty? 

Then, in return, I'll agree, without whinging or moaning or pulling at them or trying to tear them, to wear clothes up to a maximum of two years older than I currently am? 

And I'll promise to stop blogging about how tight you are when it comes to dressing your only child?

Cheers

BB xx