That's the label on the box in the closet: pregnancy and sequins. That cute white summer maternity dress with the big black dots (very '50s), the capris with the comfort band, the black bella band for that not-quite-that-pregnant time. These lie on top of the black dress with silver and white sparkly sequins, long and lovely; the bustier; the 1960's mini dress, strapless with a line of mink on the straight neckline (that fur has been dead for years, that's my justification!) And these all on top of the box of sarongs and beach towels, which are not used nearly enough.
My closet hangers reveal my everyday priorities: business jackets, coats, sweaters, dress pants, jeans, a few summer skirts. I'm thinking I'd like to switch, putting these things in the boxes and instead hang the tropical batik sarong next to that great mink-topped dress and then the sexy bustier? Isn't that what life SHOULD be about? Today I returned the only maternity clothing I bought -- the cute pencil skirt from "A Pea in the Pod". It didn't even have time to make it into the pregnancy box.
Tonight, I watch the Canadian ice dancer, full of grace, who lost her mom a day or so ago. Amazingly present and visibly emotional, she brought the crowd to their feet. I'm proud of her. They show clips of the American skater on the ice at age 3, all cute and curly. I sit here, grateful for mothers and daughters. Grateful for my dad who taught me how to skate. And I have to admit something: (it's goofy, I'll warn you). As a girl, I didn't fantasize about having kids, nor marriage. But recently, I thought that maybe not only would I actually HAVE a baby, but that baby would be a girl, and she would dream of being an Olympic athlete. Hmm, maybe that's where the sequins come in?!