"Are you stylish?" asks my daughter the other day. She loves the word, even though she's shy about actually dressing up.
I was never very stylish, although I used to try. Then I got pregnant and had two kids. My body expanded, then contracted, expanded, contracted. In different ways. It's also hard to feel stylish when your clothes are often splattered with baby food, body fluids, or kids' paints. When my daughter turned three, I was hungry to change my look. I started wearing skirts, every so often. I bought some shiny ankle-length boots and I wore them two or three times. Then I had the stroke.
"I wish I could be stylish," I grumble. "It's hard to be stylish when I have to wear these stupid Velcro sneakers and my brace every day because of the stroke."
"Don't feel bad, Mommy," says my daughter, with a sympathetic pout. "It's not your fault that your brain shrank."
2 days ago