I don't want to wear jeans everyday.
I don't want to wear a crappy bra anymore.
I'm more than that.
I don't want to forget who I was before I had kids.
The funky artistic person I used to be.
The dancer in me.
The writer in me now.
I did wear black to my own wedding for pete's sake.
Uniqueness is not overrated.
It's the thing to do.
Living in the city helps you to be yourself more, I think.
You go out more and see people and you want to look your best.
In the country, you see the goats.
And the lady at the bank, but only through the triple pan glass from the car.
There's no lively walking down the street to a restaurant, showing of my new shoes anymore.
Now it's a hurried walk through a parking lot crowded with minivans and pickup trucks.
Winter doesn't help either.
I do enjoy the bundling up early Fall invites into my life.
Sweaters under blazers with a jaunty scarf.
But, I'm ready for ankle pants, heels, and jazzy tops.
I need to vamp up my hair with some accessories I think.
I need to find my style again.
I need to find the girl who used to wear flowered pants without a second thought.
I need to find the girl who used to wear orange.
I need to remember who I was before I became a hospital mom.
A mom whose sole purpose had become to save her daughter.
Hair didn't matter.
Shoes didn't matter.
We have fought the good fight and it seems we are winning.
I do know what's really important in my day to day.
I get it.
Really, really get it.
But, I think I can bring out the lipstick and dazzling earrings again.
I can wear the turquoise jewels with wild abandonment.
I can find myself and reintroduce my funky side to this plain Jane who has taken over.
But I do think I'll leave the flowered pants to the younger crowd.