Sunday was a much better day. I did my seasonal closet purge. I had never noticed until this weekend, but for the past few years, I go through my whole wardrobe at the beginning of each season, getting rid of what no longer works and making note of what I need. I'm at the point where my entire wardrobe for every season fits on one rack in my closet. I love it. I never quite finished organizing my closet at the beginning of summer, so I went for it Sunday morning. I refolded all my hoodies, hugged my sweaters, lined up my cardigans, and frisked my fleece sweat pants, letting them know it's almost time to come out of hibernation. I put my shorts in the furtherest corner of my closet. I knew I was desperately in need of a new pair of jeans, and my closet cleaning only confirmed that. I bought my favorite pair of jeans 2.5 years ago at Nordstrom Rack, a few months before getting pregnant with Gracie. I wore them almost every day, until I was halfway through my pregnancy and they had stretched as far as they could stretch. I finally retired them when I sat down in a movie theater and had to unbutton and partially unzip them. I started wearing them again last fall, and I wore them until this past spring, when I looked down while taking them off and realized I could see daylight through the seat of my jeans. I had completely worn them out! They were also getting big, probably from being stretched thin, so I wadded them up in a ball and threw them in my closet because even though they were no longer wearable, I wasn't emotionally ready to part with them.
I mentally prepared myself for jeans shopping and went back to Nordstrom Rack, thinking MAYBE those jeans still exist? I grabbed a few pairs from a few brands in a range of sizes because it's 2016 and consistent sizing still isn't a thing. I found my favorite jeans and squealed but also braced myself for rejection, because nothing is quite the same since having a baby. I went to the dressing room and tried on the other brands first. They were the friend zone of jeans: I wouldn't mind hanging out with them occasionally, but they wouldn't make me excited to get dressed in the morning. And then I grabbed my favorite pair. THEY FIT. LIKE A GLOVE. I checked the size. They were the size BELOW my pre-baby jeans. I checked the size again. Still a size smaller than my old jeans. I checked again. Same result. I cried. I took 17 pictures and sent them to James with 100 exclamation marks. I almost texted them to my entire contact list.
I celebrated that evening with a burrito and salted caramel fro yo.
I also celebrated with How I Met Your Mother and some knitting. Just a typical Saturday night for us. Gracie's day was made too, because I happened to find my Charlie Brown Christmas piano book in the back of my closet. She's been thrusting it at me ever since, thinking it's a book for me to read to her. It's been giving me an excellent excuse to sing Christmas songs, and she's been entertained for hours, pointing and laughing at sixteenth notes and treble clefs like they're the funniest things she's ever seen.
On Monday, we went to a cookout at our friends' house. It was so much fun. Gracie had the time of her life playing with their two-year-old daughter, who referred to Gracie as "Gravy," and I had the time of my life sitting and rocking their newborn. I think I blacked out the first few months of Gracie's life, because nothing about holding a newborn felt familiar to me. I was constantly panicking about supporting his head and trying to make sure I didn't drop him. I was stressed to the max, but he was so calm and adorable I caught myself nudging James few times. Gracie discovered that tricycles exist, and her world will never be the same. She couldn't quite pedal it, but I pushed her around on it and she was dying of excitement. She'll be starting a GoFundMe campaign any day now to raise donations for a tricycle of her own.
The menu for the night was hamburgers and hot dogs, but I wound up being the main dish. So far I've counted TWELVE mosquito bites on my legs, and that's not even including the three I already had on my chest and face. James and Gracie were next to me the whole night and have a combined total of zero bites. I feel like I have the chicken pox, except it's not Christmas 1993 and I'm not also throwing up. But I look like a leper (actually I have no idea what leprosy looks like), and unfortunately I will be too busy to do anything this week as I'll be scratching myself to death instead. Occasionally my mosquito bites will look like normal mosquito bites, but mine tend to swell into golf ball sized welts instead, which is happening now. With my luck, I've also been infected with West Nile and Zika.