I finally admit it. I am no longer a size 8.

And I probably never will be. And that's OK.

Over the past few weeks, in stolen moments, I have been going through my closet and purging things that are worn out, out of style, too short, too tight, or too uncomfortable.  Many items came from my teaching days before we moved to France, so they were pretty ancient, and unlikely to be worn again. The entire trunk of our car is full of bags of clothes and shoes on the way to Goodwill. And honestly, I'm sure there is more that should be in there, but I just got to the point where I needed the process to be done.

And when it was, I still had little to wear. The closet is full of clothes, but there were very few pants or skirts that I could fit into and I liked. But I'm trying to be a grown up. It's time to accept it. I've had 2 children, and I have never had abs of steel, even before my babies grew under them. My clothes just don't fit the same, and may never again. And that's OK. Our daughters are worth that price.

I bought two new pairs of pants the other day. I don't like the numbers on the tag, but I like the way they fit. I like being able to breathe. I like the confidence I have when I know I look good again. And I'm worth it, too.