Fashionmomista
So, remember a few posts ago I was pining over my identity being a mother who loves fashon and the whole blogsphere involving mom blogs and where do I belong etc etc? Well, I landed a job writing as a fashion expert. Meaning, that’s where I will write about that.
Here, I can write about being a mother who is going to a party for the first time in eight months without having her child in the next room or strapped to her bosom. That’s right, folks, I helped plan a party at a I-wish-I-was-in-Brooklyn venue with a few fashionable and partially pretentious people (the exceptions being, of course, my friends — because who needs pretenses when we buck to keep it real).
The big question is WTF do I wear? I am no longer bound down to shirts that are condusive to breastfeeding and shoes that will not throw my balance off kilter when I throw my babe over my shoulder. My entire wardrobe is up for the running! I’m leaning towards a black bra, see through white tank top, a black lame miniskirt, and some bling around my neck that will blind people this way to Sunday.
