my poor 8 year old son is growing out of his pants faster than he can put them on. every morning after he dressing himself for school, he emerges from his room and we all yell, ‘where’s the floooood!?’.
but really HE should be yelling, ‘oh my god mom, you selfish fucking bitch- you went and spent how much money on a sweater coat (an amazing one by Soyer LA might I mention) and an umpteenth pair of Jimmy Choo’s (hello- they were the last pair of neon yellow in my size at The Outnet, duh) and now I have no new pants that fit me’.
that’s when the mom shopping guilt steps in. when you get so caught up in keeping up appearances and perfecting your OOTD game, that your poor child’s fashion suffers. major #momfail.
but wait! i did after all, endure years of: sleepless nights, un-showered days, leaky boobs, cleaning shitty diapers, being projectile vomited on, cleaning up more shit and spit up and generally losing any sense of time and quitting my job- all for this adorable, amazing, precious dear beansprout of mine.
so what, if his pants are short? sheeesh!
at least mommy looks cute again and the boobs have stopped leaking. dammit.