I hated being pregnant (I know this is not something I am supposed to say out loud).
The minute I had my second child, I was ready to burn anything that reminded me of being preggers. I had all my maternity clothes in bags to be donated. I got rid of anything with an empire waist, any tunic or smock looking tops, and all my elastic waisted pants. Never mind the fact that I still had forty-five extra pounds on me and none of my normal clothes fit. If the tag said "maternity" on it, it was gone.
Likewise, the day my son turned one, I gave away all my diaper bags. I guess I was sick and tired of hauling around all that extra crap everywhere I went.
So it is ironic that I am inexplicably drawn to this bag:
After all, it is vaguely reminiscent of a diaper bag. A more glamorous and somewhat overpriced one at that.
Maybe it is just nostalgia and I am subconsciously craving those years that I was so eager to get through (see my previous post on the topic of my Baby Goggles).