Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat: I love my mother. Sure, we haven’t always got along, but in general she is pretty awesome. But I have always said that when I was older and had kids of my own that I wouldn’t turn into her. I think everyone says that although the transformation is probably inevitable.
When I was growing up, most of the clothes we bought were from the sale rack. My mother knew when they were about to mark down merchandise and would be there first thing in the morning to troll the racks. There is nothing wrong with this at all. But I’ve never been able to get into it. I think I am too overwhelmed by the disorder and complete randomness. I like it when things are arranged neatly by style and color, I don’t like a jumble. Don’t even get me started on those box sales. I think I start breaking out into hives whenever I even attempt those.
I have changed my ways. Especially with a baby, it seems stupid to spend full price on clothes for her when she’ll only be wearing them for a few months. Today, I bought her a winter coat. On sale. For next winter. Because, guess what, it doesn’t matter if it’s “in style” or not. It’s a coat. For a baby.