The Clothes horse
Or, On being a mom who denies herself nothing
The transition to motherhood, it seems, provokes a certain pragmatism in a once-wild woman. Her jewellery? Banished, since the delicate glimmer would be irresistible to magpie kids. Her white pants? Relegated, for the fabric itself seems to threaten, ‘I’ll get dirty, just you wait.’ Her heeled sandals? Exiled; wearing them would be akin to madness.
