post is not in 3D. you're welcs.

boots: target. jeans: old navy (on loan). sweater: motherhood maternity. earrings: gift from here.

Take a good look, friends. Or don't. But these items were banished to the laundry room after my very sick little chickie of a toddler threw up all over me in the bathroom at InstaCare.

Pity me. Please. Then pity yourselves because you're seeing me in, yet again, the same 3 articles of clothing every time I do an outfit post. In fact, I've probably already posted this exact get-up already. Awesome. But here's the thing: my go-to outfits are not glamorous, they're not mind-bendingly inspiring, they're not particularly clever, they're probably not even be clean. (Wanna still be friends? No? Understandable...) Still, they're my bread-and-butter as a comfort-seeking pregnant mom.

(Mmmmm. Butter...)

I love wearing stuff that makes me feel pretty and feminine. But I also love wearing stuff that aids in, rather than competes with, the functions of my life. Like laundry and dishes and dusting (wait, that's a lie. I never dust.) and the occasional throw-up of a little girl who, at the moment, needs her mom's comfy lap and love more than her wearing of pretty heels and lace.

So. What do we all learn from this? Wear stuff that's vomit-proof. The end.

Happy Friday.

a zigzag scarf and a brush with death...or at least some squooshy mud

 boots: target. jeans: old navy. shirt: duo maternity. scarf: forever 21. earrings: etsy.

I know, I know...the boots-and-knee-high-socks thing has been done to death. But it's comfy and warm and covers up some of my water-retaining legs. So we'll just have to agree to agree-but-let-the-pregnant-lady-have-her-way for another month or two, mmmmkay? Thanks a mil.

I took my 3-year-old daughter for a walk this morning. She's adorable but has a stubborn streak that comes to a very vocal head when she's asked to do something outlandish. Like walk. So she rode in the stroller.

Our route led us up a small hill and then back down. Wanting to change things up on the way home, at the bottom of the hill I took a scenic route (read: death-defying brush with nature) along the canal. It was muddy, snowy, slushy, puddley (yep. real word. maybe.), slippery, bumpy and all things "-y" that would potentially cause one well-meaning but off-balanced soul wearing zero-traction boots to careen into the nearby waterway.

You'll all breathe an enormous sigh of relief, as I did, when our squeal-worthy rugged-terrain journey ended with zero fatalities and only one really muddy boot. Which, frankly, is a happy albeit fairly anticlimatic ending to this tale.

I know what you're all thinking: Why would she share such a pointless Story of Meh? What a waste of my time. Doesn't she know Nate Berkus is almost on? Fair enough, but in my defense, the alternative was a riveting story about how I chewed a hangnail on my super-dry thumb until it bled and now the bandaid keeps coming off. So.

You're welcome, and I accept your apology.

Happy Tuesday.

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