I remember the time that I swore becoming a mother wouldn’t affect my style.
I eschewed “mom jeans” and “mom shoes” (well, mostly, save for one pair of thick-rubber-soled, Park Slope-friendly Mary Janes from Tsubo) and even when the postpartum arse was all but unconcealable, I stockpiled A-line skirts instead of a drawer full of sweatpants.
But now, there’s no escaping it: I’ve been marked as a mom.
