She's let herself go.

First, before I'm permanently labeled as a shlumpadinka, I'll say in my defense that I'm sick, Sammy is teething and slightly feverish and it's chilly and rainy out. Also, it's our stay-at-home-day, which we try to do every Monday to balance out our weekends that tend to have too much running around.

Today, I put on a sweatsuit. I changed out of my jammies into a pink jogging-type outfit with a black t-shirt. It isn't something with sweatband ankle cuffs and a freebie logo on the chest. It isn't torn or grease-stained. The pants are boot cut, the sweatshirt is a zip-up hoodie, and the black t-shirt is a feminine cut with detailing around the v-neck. I'm just saying that though it isn't something I'd wear to a party, it isn't that bad.

This was the response from my four year old:

Zack: Are you wearing that today?

Me: Yes.

Zack: As your clothes?

Me: Yep.

Zack: Mommy. I don't think you can really wear that.

Me: Why not?

Zack, head shaking, chin pulled back, face scrunched in distaste, sputtering: It's... too... pink! and jammie-y!

Me: Well, it isn't jammies, I changed out of my jammies. And it is our stay at home day.

Zack: And are you still wearing it when Daddy comes home?

Me: Yes! It's fine!

Me, calling out after him as he shakes his head and leaves the room: And I'm sick!

Sheesh. He's strict.