Red Shoes

When I first decided to start this blog I was rockin the sweats, big shirts, disheveled hair, and well, obviously make-up was as likely as a unicorn popping out of my ass. All mirrors were avoided.

Given, I was still fashioning my pregnancy weight, not sleeping, and never the left the house, so it was both hard, and somewhat pointless to try to look good. But, you reach that point where you just want to feel sexy again. My hot red heels were taunting me. Every time I reached in the closet to grab some new fat-girl pants, they whispered to me, "Remember us? We are your power shoes. You are unstoppable in us! Wear us. Wear us."

I would give in. Crouch down on the floor in my sweats and baggy shirt, and desperately try to stuff my still swollen sausage feet in. Nope. Not going to happen. Try again later. Ignore the blood.

And I did. Many, many times.

Spring came, and the pounds were finally starting to melt away with the receding snow. I decided I would start getting dressed in the morning, wearing some make-up again, and brush my hair! It was amazing. I started feeling much happier again. I no longer felt like this schleppy old mess. I wore cute outfits, dressed Aife up in her cute clothes (we both had previously just stayed in pj's all day), and started venturing out into the world strutting our stuff.

Babing at High Altitude serves as a daily reminder that motherhood is gorgeous (and that "mom" jeans are never ok, not ever, not for any reason!) Moms are sexy. Aife and I are babes, living way above sea level. Let your babeness out, celebrate it.

And in the immortal genius of Ron Burgundy, "I look good. "