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It’s going to be a little baby heavy around here for a little while since today I am 12 weeks pregnant and that means I have many, many weeks of thoughts to tell you about.


I really wanted to discuss this whole leggings as pants thing. Again.

I don’t know why this is a trend that just won’t die, but COME ON. Leggings are NOT pants. When I say leggings aren’t pants, I mean if you’re wearing leggings, you must, must, must cover your butt. PLEASE. At least find a top that goes down to your upper thigh.



That’s why.

Ladies, I don’t care if you’re a size 2 or a size 22. Everyone has a butt crack, we don’t need to see yours on display.

And if leggings make your back look like that, what do you think they’re doing to the front? Are you truly comfortable with displaying camel toe?

And why…why, oh why, would you pair this awesome look with Uggs?

Look, I don’t have a problem with the Ugg brand. And I don’t have a problem with people who wear Uggs. My personal dislike for the traditional Ugg boot stems from the fact that I think it makes everyone look like they have giant Muppet feet and I just don’t understand the appeal. Comfort be damned. I have a very comfortable pair of Rocket Dog boots that are contoured enough to not make my feet look like dinner plates.

I just don’t get it. Butt crack, camel toe, AND Muppet feet?

Am I missing something?

I have completely jumped aboard the legging train and wear them all the time, especially with my growing waistline. But my butt is always covered. Leggings…not pants.

My last thought on this is that while I’m totally pro-trends (most of the time), I’m not pro-dressing like every other person on the street. This became evident to me when we stopped at a local coffee shop located on a nearby college campus and as we waited in line I counted eight — EIGHT — girls wearing the exact same thing in varying colors.


Ugg boots.

Northface fleeces.

If I was stealth enough I would have taken a picture, but you’ll have to just imagine it. Can someone explain to me why this look is so in?

I don’t mean to offend. If you’re sitting at home reading this post in your leggings as pants, Ugg boots and Northface fleece, you don’t have to start gathering up the rotten tomatoes.

You can explain it to me!

(P.S. – Belly shots start tomorrow!)


– This post is late because we spent the morning driving to and from Hartford, CT (about 2 hours each way) to bring Kodiak back to the surgeon who has worked on his leg before. He hasn’t been using the leg to its fullest ability over the last few weeks and then after a romp on the beach this past weekend, he stopped using the leg all together and started hopping on the remaining three!

The surgeon just called to inform us that he has a lateral meniscus tear (in the knee) — an injury that is the only thing that could be left wrong in the leg and very rare. Of COURSE Kodiak tore it. The surgery (his 3rd!) is complete and my sleepy boy is recovering, waiting for us to pick him back up this afternoon. My evening will be spent hand feeding him carrots and yogurt — the only thing he will eat while doped up on pain meds, a combination I discovered by process of elimination after the first surgery.

– Thank you all for weighing in on the dress issue. For those who suggested I don’t wear anything form-fitting because I shouldn’t be taking attention away from the bride, thank you. You gave me a good laugh. I promise, I have good wedding ettiquette and wasn’t planning on wearing a spandex pantsuit. Michael just meant he likes things that flatter my shape a little more.

In the end, I returned the dress. Then I went out and bought a Calvin Klein cocktail dress instead. And then I tried it on for Michael, as well as my rehearsal dinner dress and huh, that one kind of looked better. The one I already own. So I guess I’m returning the second dress too. Go me.

– I grilled steak for dinner last night, something I don’t usually do. Today my stomach HATES ME for it and I always remember too late that even though it tastes good, red meat and my tummy don’t mix. If you’re interested in a little TMI, after a Google search, guess what I found out excess iron (like that in a steak) does to your, er, waste?

 It turns it forest green.

You’re welcome.

I have two weddings to go to this year and wanted something I could wear to both of them. I’ve tried on a bunch of maxi dresses in the past, but never really found one I liked until today. So I bought it. It’s simple, yet elegant, can be accessorized with fun things and isn’t skin tight so eating lots of appetizers? Yes, please.

I came home and tried it on for Michael, who likes it, but said that he thinks it’s not form fitting enough. He says I have awesome curves (aw, thanks babe) and I should show them off.

So now I’m confused. Should I look for something more form-flattering? Or do I chalk it up to men not really getting fashion and wear it anyway?

Here, you help:


Take this picture for what it is. I mean, it’s a terrible self portrait with unstyled morning frizzy, rainy day hair (because shockingly, it’s still raining here), and I attempted about 10 pictures and sadly, this was the best one. Try to visualize it in person going all the way to the floor.

So what do you think? To maxi dress, or not to maxi dress?

Since becoming unemployed, I’ve noticed my wardrobe has taken a turn for the…comfortable. Stacey and Clinton would be so mad at me. At last count, I had seven pairs of black stretchy yoga pants (four capri, three long) in my rotation. One for every day if you want to look at it that way.

I wear them around the house, to run errands, pop into Starbucks, then repurpose them for exercising before tossing them in the wash. All-purpose clothing, apparently.

I’m not proud of this shift, but if I don’t have a lot to do during the day, I just don’t see the point anymore in dressing to impress at the grocery store. The pants aren’t sloppy. They fit quite nice, actually. I bet you Michael would agree.

And it’s not like I’m wearing them out at night or to a party. Yet.

The only downside to this shift is that black yoga pants? Don’t go with heels. Although, they look super cute with fabulous flats so HA! Win again.

I just remembered, the count is actually at eight. I guess I have to count my black leggings (that I do NOT wear as pants) too.

I do miss the daily routine of dressing up for work. There was something satisfying and rewarding about pairing a cute skirt and top or tailored pants with high heels. Most of my closet is basically rendered useless to me most days as it’s filled with business casual and guess what? Unemployment means very infrequent clothes buying.

I know that eventually I’ll be able to put them back on, (or, you know, buy really cute maternity clothes instead. What?) so in the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy my stretchy pants paradise and hope that I don’t run into the What Not to Wear crew at the grocery store.

I have a theory that Victoria’s Secret creates their own system of bra sizes so you think you’re bigger than you actually are. Because if you live in America, your breast size must be important, right?

So not only do they have you fit in a size that would be swimming on you in any other store, they also charge a fortune.

This theory does not apply to their underwear.

I’m fan of the 5 for $25 or 3 for $30 or whatever they’re doing when I walk in the door. I like their variety of cuts, styles and colors. I also know that when I find a pair I like, I better scoop up as many as possible because other than their traditional bikinis, the styles are ever-changing.


It appears that with underwear, smaller is better. And I’m not talking a little higher cut on the rear with a little lace that’s oh-so cute (and surprisingly comfortable). I’m talking about squeezing what I think is a relatively small rear end into something labeled medium  that is almost as big as a postage stamp. Almost.

(And oddly enough, in my favorite VS undies, I wear a small. Consistency? What’s that?)

At 5:37 a.m., when the kicky black and white nautical striped skivvies once again inched their way towards the great divide, I was ready to rip them off, hang them on a pole and surrender to the Secret.

You can’t return underwear, people, (And if there’s some place you can, please, I beg you, DON’T.) so it looks like I’m stuck with thong that is not supposed to be a thong and out $9.95.

I think Victoria might need some meds.

“But it fit in the store!”

I cannot count how many times I’ve said that. I have an entire drawer full of “But it fit in the store!” clothes and frankly, I’m sick of it.

The jeans with the saggy butt.

The shirt that isn’t long enough.

The dress — that purple bubble WHAT WAS I THINKING dress.

I know my body shape does not magically change when I step through a dressing room door. Why then do I find myself cursing my wardrobe and wondering if I happened to forget taking a hallucinogenic drug before throwing down my debit card because seriously? SERIOUSLY?

I need to go shopping. This is no secret, as I’ve been anticipating no longer saving for a wedding and skipping off to the mall where I will perform Mary Tyler Moore-esque spins in the center of J Crew, rolling around in cardigans and skinny jeans and slouchy boots until I pass out from all the excitement and the smell of fresh leather.

I had plans to do it last weekend. But I started reading a book (Reading! On a Saturday! All leisurely like with nothing to plan!) and got so wrapped up in it that by the time I showered, it was almost time for Michael to come home from work and spending time with the new hubby trumped shopping. Plus it was raining, and, well, meh.

So then I thought maybe I’d go this weekend, but with it being period week plus all the extra post-wedding baked goods I’ve been consuming, I think it’s better to just wait and let the monthly bloat/cookie belly dissipate a little before entering any dressing rooms.

Because you know what will happen if I go now, right?

“But it fit in the store!”

And I am not coming home with bags of stuff I will hate in a week. No. Not happening.

Although I could go shoe shopping. I haven’t bought shoes in a verrrry long time. And you know, no matter how much bloat or cookies you’ve consumed, shoes always fit.


In the store and at home.

Now someone please explain to me the fit-in-the-store-but-not-at-home phenomenon because I DON’T GET IT.

Hi there. It’s Monday the 20th. As in, the week of my wedding. As in, four days from now I will be leaving at this very moment to head to the salon. On my wedding day.

Everyone keeps asking me, “are you ready? Are you excited?”

Well, yes. I’m basically ready. It’s just tying up lose ends right now. And YES, I’m excited, although it really still feels like I’m planning for a wedding still months away. How did we get to four days? So what’s left?

Tonight: assembling favors with Michael’s grandmother.

Tuesday: Pre-wedding massage (on the house because our massage therapist ROCKS.)

Wednesday: Leave work at noon, get a PEDICURE (oh yes, you convinced me), finish any last minute cleaning around the house and start to greet some of my bridesmaids, as two arrive!

Thursday: Drop off stuff at venue, drop off welcome packets at hotels, manicures with even more bridesmaids, family arrives, rehearse, eat, go back to the hotel and freak out to my sister that OMIGOD I’m getting married TOMORROW.

I also have to convince my brain to do some actual work in the 2.5 days I’m here, although that will be very, very hard.

So, my rehearsal dinner dress? The super cute black and white one I wore to Clink’s wedding? The one that I paid a lot for and was excited I’d have another place to wear it? Does. Not. Fit.

Sure, it’s a blessing (because what they say about losing weight without even trying right before your wedding is totally true), but it’s also a curse. Because that is the dress I planned on wearing. And I cannot go spend money on another dress, nor do I have the time to go shop for one. So I’m going to have to play around with is and see if with a cute red sweater and adjusting the belt I can make it work. Tim Gunn will be proud. I hope.

Also, randomly, as you know I’m a big fan of drug store hair products. They’ve never done me wrong and I prefer to spend my extra dollars on shoes and grande soy chais. I had to go return the ion hair dryer (that WAS making my hair flat), so I decided to stop in CVS and see if they had any new mousse.

I picked up the Weightless Body Extra Hold Mousse from TRESemme. Yesterday I decided to give it a try and let me just tell you, I’m hooked. My hair? Is BIG. And this is rare.

OK, done with my product placement now.

Off to make tea, as my office is FREEZING.

As I was getting ready for work this morning I picked up a gray trapeze sweater with big buttons that I bought last winter. It’s kind of an unusual shape, but it’s very comfy and looks cute with a long-sleeved tee and jeans.

I held it in my hands for a moment, then placed in back down. No, not today, I thought.

Why? Well ok, here it is. Last time I wore the sweater a coworker made fun of me. He asked me where my matching legwarmers and scrunchi was. I ignored him the first time and wore it again, only to be asked where the rest of my clown posse was (big buttons — clown-like?).

The comments rushed me back to the fourth grade. I showed up to school in my current favorite outfit: black spandex bike shorts with a white and red striped skirt attached to them, plus the matching white and red striped boat-neck top to go along with it. Oddly enough I cannot remember the shoes, but that is not important.

I came into the classroom feeling cute and confident, until Aaron Lastnameescapesme came up to me, pointed at my legs and said, “Your legs are shiny. Why are they shiny? Do you shave your legs???”

Now I have no idea why my legs looked shiny and to a fourth-grader, the idea of shaving my legs was horrific and embarrassing. He kept teasing me and I turned on my heel to walk away from him before he could make me cry.

I never wore the outfit again.

This morning I cursed Aaron Lastnameescapesme for ever making me doubt myself because of something a guy says. Especially regarding fashion, because let’s be honest, neither Aaron nor my coworker will be gracing the cover of GQ any time soon.

I didn’t wear the sweater today, but I will wear it again. Soon.

And guess what, Aaron. My legs ARE shaved. So there.

Bachelorette party t minus 2 days. Cue girly omigod WHAT DO I WEAR freakout.

I’ve raided the closets of friends. I’ve poured through everything on my hangers. I dragged Jen shopping late at night in the hopes of finding something that will make me feel cute/hot/fun on Saturday night.

Option 1:

Red Max Studio dress with plunging neckline (I don’t know why it got cut off), silver chain necklace, red soled brown crocodile heels and the signature Molly Curl.

Option 2:

White Victoria’s Secret wrap dress, peep toe red pumps and the aforementioned necklace and hair.

I am leaning heavily towards option One. I may have even tried it on with my actual bridal veil to see what it would be like with random bachelorette paraphernalia. (Side note: the veil? Woah. Being a bride is so freaking spectacular.)

Which do you like better? Don’t say neither because then I’ll be forced to go in nothing but my underwear and heels and I know it’s a bachelorette party, but I don’t take kindly to cold drafts.

I’m wearing leggings today. I know what you’re thinking. Molly? In leggings? But Molly hates leggings! Well, I do. I mean, I did. I mean…

I hate leggings as pants. In my opinion, leggings are NOT pants. Unless you are under the age of 12. It probably has to do with flashbacks from fourth grade, because any girl my age went through the leggings/big shirts/scrunch socks look. There may have also been sweatshirts with puff paint and mirrors on them. Oh, the humanity.

So as much as leggings bother me, I have to admit that every time I see a girl in a cute dress with leggings and flats I secretly want to wear them. But then I think, if I wear them, aren’t I going against what I stand for?

(OK, yes, I have a stance on leggings. So what.)

Over the course of the winter I bought some very cute, very summery dresses that I have been longing to wear every time I open my closet. The bright colors looked so inviting and happy in contrast to my dull winter wardrobe that I was so over. So when the weather took a turn for the better and finally brought us sun! and warmth! and happy!, I was determined to bust out the dresses.

Except there was one problem. The dresses leave both my arms and legs pretty bare and even though I have a very casual office, I didn’t think anyone wanted to be exposed to my see through whitey-white legs.

The internal struggle continued. Until Monday, when my friend Ashley walked into my cube and demanded I tell her the truth: did her cute skirt look ridiculous paired with leggings? No, it did not. And so I was convinced.

Later that afternoon with Ashley in tow, I walked into Marshalls (with blinders on because, shoes! Oh, the glorious shoe section!) and bought my very own pair of leggings.

The first night I left them in the car, to think it over. The next day I brought them in the house, but left them in the bag, just in case.

And today I put them on with my kicky and fun kelly green dress. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “I can do this. I look cute!”

I walked downstairs and as I rounded the corner, Michael took one look at me and said, “leggings? Really?”

I decided to take that comment as “I’m surprised you’re wearing leggings, given your very vocal opinion on them,” instead of “Wow, you look like an idiot. Please take those off.”

I still don’t know if I love them, but I certainly don’t hate them. At least not anymore.

Except if they’re worn as pants.

Because leggings are NOT pants.