What She Wore: jean capris; navy blue tank top with white swirls; white hoodie; navy, red, and white strappy slides. Sorry, no shoe pics–I’m without my camera at the moment.
I realize that this trip home was a trick. There was the promise of presents and going out to eat, but now that I’m here, I see what this whole thing was really about:
My mother is conspiring to DRIVE ME CRAZY. Crazy, ya hear?
My mother has an amazing hold over me. I am almost thirty years old and I was literally crying before we left to come down here. Why? Because I am worried that she will not like my clothes. Granted, I’m pregnant, and that creates a ridiciulous influx in hormones, but if I wasn’t pregnant, there’s still a 50/50 chance that she could reduce me to complete tears with just one comment.
But my wardrobe is not her current obsession–her current obsession is moving me back here. PRONTO. I have told her REPEATEDLY that my main focus at this time is giving birth to a baby, and then figuring out how to diaper and feed it. Her main focus is giving me job advice. I’m not the one looking for a job, but still, she’s giving me her opinion on the whole job search. She also likes to give me the opinons of her friends. Now, I love my mother, and I like her friends, but I have more work history than the three of them combined.
So, at what point does your mother realize that your life is NOT a popular opinon poll, but, in fact YOUR life? The decisions that my husband and I make are our own.
Argggg, I’ve been duped, I tell ya!