Cha-Cha-Cha-Cha-Changes

The work upheaval from yesterday has continued today.

In fact, it kind of vomited on today.

Upheavals are awesome.

Because they make everyone maaaaaaad.

And that, in turn, makes being at work awesome.

Awesome as in I'd-rather-jump-naked-on-a-huge-pile-of-thumbtacks-while-also-shoving-bamboo-shoots-under-my-fingernails.

The only change to my job so far came last night. 

At 4:55pm.

Why does everything have to happen five minutes before it's time to leave?

I was called into the office and told that my work attire is not professional enough.

I was surprised.

Because I've worked here for over a year and no one's ever said anything to me about it.

I happen to totally agree. 

I am the first person seen when anyone walks in the door.

I should look nice.

That being said, it was all I could do to not burst into tears for the following reasons:

1.  Having just had a baby (can I still stay that even though it's been four months?), my body has kind-of-sort-of been reshaped.  Some things are bigger, some things are smaller, some things hang lower.  In other words, I have approximately one, count it, one dress that I can actually fit into without the help of Spanx.  I used to think it was normal to wear gut squeezers.  Now, I value my oxygen intake waaaay too much.  I don't have a single pair of pants, jeans or otherwise, that fit.  I also happen to be one of those really lucky ladies whose feet have never returned to their regular, pre-pregnancy size.  Therefore, the only shoes I have that fit are flip flops.  Am I happy about or proud of any of this?  No.  I have regular self-bashing sessions nightly when I stand in front of the mirror grabbing my purple-stretch-marked tummy, trying to figure out a way to smooth it out.  But, my new body is a fact for now.  And, even if I had a pile of extra money lying around, which I definitely don't, I would refuse to buy clothes to fit this body.  It has to change sooner or later.  Hopefully sooner.

2.  I happen to be the mother of a baby who spits up.  A LOT.  If I hold her, snuggle her, feed her, play with her, talk to her, or touch her even a little bit, I end up with milk curd all over my clothes.  It's fine except for when I'm walking out the door to work and it happens.  Even if I plan to wear nice clothes, I usually end up having to change into something different before I leave.  If it's clean, that's an extra bonus.

3.  Anyone who thinks I'm going to wake up even earlier to fix my hair or iron clothes is sadly mistaken.  I now value every second of sleep I get.  And, getting myself and a baby ready in the morning is challenging enough.  They should be happy I wear clothes at all.

4.  Asking me to wear nice clothes to work is kind of like telling someone who works at a Chevron to wear a dress.  A lot of my job includes wallowing on the floor looking for files from 1972.  And moving dirty, dusty piles of stuff.  Nice clothes do nothing but get in the way.

Anyway, I ended up kind of feeling like a step-child.

In this state of mind, I went to pick up my baby.

The babysitter's five-year-old son answered the door.

He said, "Did you go to the haircutting store today?"

I said, "No.  Why?  Does my hair look better or worse?"

He thought for a minute and said, "Worse.  A lot worse."

I should have known better than to ask...