Hung Up on the Hand-Me-Down

That’s me.

Not one thing on me was mine – except maybe that corn dog. Maybe. One of the “perks” of not being the first born is the hand-me-down.  For as long as she could, my mom would dress me in my brother’s clothes.  I don’t think there was a particular reason for it other than the fact that she was busy.  I had enough hair that hopefully people wouldn’t mistake me for a boy. If she was concerned, she would throw a bow in my hair and that would be that.

See. She did it again… that’s my brother’s sweater… and pants… and a bow.

I wore my brother’s socks, shoes, and I hate to even say it… drawers. I found out I was pregnant with my daughter when my middle son was just 4 months old, so I had PLENTY of stuff in yellow and green that could have been handed down, but my mom was having none of that.  She made sure that baby girl had all of the girly things that I didn’t.

Yep… Those are cars… on my pajamas.

I never really got into the super girly thing beyond wanting Tinkerbell nail polish and Jean Nate body splash. Even now, I’m quite content in my husbands t-shirts and sweats (which he totally hates).

Yesterday, I overheard my 8 year old telling my 7 year old… “I’ll just put them in your room.” So I ask, “what are you putting in her room?”

She says, “He says I can have all his shoes that don’t fit anymore!” I was stunned. This from the girl who won’t wear anything without at least a 50/50 glitter ratio?  I didn’t say anything. I guess a hand-me-down or two never hurt anyone.

This post was inspired by the novel Prayers for the Stolen by Jennifer Clement. Ladydi was grew up in rural Mexico, where being a girl is a dangerous thing. She and other girls were “made ugly” to keep protect them from drug traffickers and criminal groups. Join From Left to Write on February 18 we discuss Prayers for the Stolen . As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.