Call it a whim

I can be impulsive. Once I set my mind to something I very rarely step back and try to take a look at the big picture before jumping in feet first. This can, and has, been a good thing. It also can, and has, been a not so good thing. Case in point, along about the sixth month of my pregnancy when the hormones were just getting fired up for the final trimester of hell, I decided that none of my clothes were "mommy clothes". If you had asked me at the time what my definition of "mommy clothes" was, I don't think I would have had one. All I knew for sure, is that my clothes weren't it. So out came the trash bags and mutterings about where the closest Goodwill was located. Chris stepped into the room cautiously as high heels and mini skirts voluntarily walked out of the closet to escape my wrath.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I am getting rid of these things, they all look like they should be on a $2 hooker." I replied
"Well, not all of them," he said "some of them are nice and you might feel differently about them later."
"No, I won't. I want them gone."
Something about the tone of my voice or the way I chucked a tank top out of the closet convinced him that the argument was futile. He wisely shrugged and stepped away.
Fast forward 6 months later. Grady was three months old, we were starting to prepare for our move. I was standing in the closet looking at all the maternity wear to pack up, and I said to Chris "I don't know what happened to all my cute clothes, it seems like I had a lot more before I got pregnant." He looked at me and blinked. Once he determined that I was honestly perplexed and not just joking , he reminded me. "well, you said they weren't 'mommy clothes' and we took them to Goodwill." Then I blinked. Once I figured out that he wasn't joking, I started to remember that day 6 months before. Gotta love mommy brain, an impulsive thinker, and one very confused husband.