French la Vie

Chelsea was six weeks old when French Husband came home with a pair of tickets for a Chanel fashion show. A friend from work had given him the tickets since he couldn't go.

 

 

Coco Channel photo source Chanel.

 

My excitement was instantly tamed when French Husband announced that the show was the next day. "What am I going to wear?" were my first words. My closet did not hold anything labeled Chanel, let alone Casual Chic. To top it off I was breastfeeding. For those of you who have breastfed you know what that means, especially in those first weeks after birth. Not only did I have a pair of shooting guns, but my breasts were also the size of melons, while my non-maternity clothes were the size of gumdrops. What was a girl to do? My pocketbook was bare though my desire to attend the Chanel fashion show was bursting out of my seams.

 

 

Photo source Style Hive.

The next morning while sitting on the edge of the bed breastfeeding I had an idea. I could wear a dress I had made of black wool jersey, it was a simple dress but I could wear it under a vintage charcoal wool dress coat that had a massive black velvet collar. Yes, it would serve the purpose.

 

 

 

 

French Husband went to work that morning, though we had a rendezvous in front of Chanel later in the day. I got ready, then fed Chelsea, dressed her, and was walking out of the door when I felt something warm running down my leg. Chelsea had a  poop. A big poop at that. A mighty big poop that went through what she was wearing, onto my one dress, down my nylons, and into my shoe. Lovely, was not the thought I had instead, "Merde," silently passed in the back of my head, "Now what am I gonna wear?'

Imagine lightening. That was the speed in which I cleaned up that butterball baby Chelsea and myself. I made it on time.

Smelling good.

I wore freshly cleaned black heels and that coat for a dress.