Shopping aint what she use to be!

Shopping has always been enjoyable for me. Ever since I earnt my first pay packet, the first thing I do is decide which clothes I have to have then race out and get 'em. It seems money burns a massive hole in my pocket and if I don't spend it immediately it'll vanish. Because of this, clothing became my drug. The more I had, the more I wanted. It was mine, mine, ALL MINE (insert evil laugh here)!

I remember when my addication began. It feels like yesterday. I vividly remember walking in to Coles, where I worked at 14, and signing for my first envelope of cash. $98. I was rich! Without a second thought I made my way through the shopping centre and straight into Sportsgirl to buy a pair of white shorts and a black and white striped shirt. My first purchase of a 'label'. It felt so good! Cash? What cash? I didn't care about the money. I had awesome new clothes to show off. It was a habit I would continue well into my 30's but the price tags became a little steeper.

I don't think I'm very different to many other women who struggle with this illness. You know the ones. They step out for a quick working lunch and return with a Country Road scarf, a pair of immitation Ray Bans and six Supre T-Shirts in a range of colours (how do you stop at one when they are just so cute?).

My addiction did have its benefits - other than the fabulous garments filling my wardrobe. Shopping was my cardio. Briskly walking from boutique to boutique and lunging from clothes rack to changing rooms. Gee, how I burnt off those soy lattes! Plus I really worked up a sweat pounding the pavement most Saturdays in a desperate attempt to get a hit. I didn't care where I got it, I had to buy something new!

But alas, since having a bub, it seems my addiction has been cured. These days, I'm lucky if I ever set foot inside a clothing store. Actually, that should be, lucky to even FIT in a clothing store of my choice! With the baby, a pram, nappybag, handbag, toys, a sling over one shoulder and shopping over another visiting Witchery (for example) is not in the realm of possibilties. It seems being thin is not just the ideal for fashion but you have to be 'thin' to fit in most stores - i.e. no baggage and/or babies. It just doesn't suit their aesthetic daaaaaaarling.


I'm not just prejudice against fashion outlets. No siree Bob. I have strong objections to department store escalators too. They are teeny tiny! My heart skips a beat if we (me, E and the pram of crap) fit on an escalator because it means I get to witness another level of Myer instead of being banished to the ground floor. Oh the First Floor (aka Bored Mother Walking Level) how I've come to loathe you.  It's nothing personal, but I'm desperate to see something else. Yes, I know you offer elevators but I'd still like to be 31 when I reach the level 2 not 84.

It's not often we are allowed to venture to other floors but when it happens I'm simply honoured to be welcomed by angels laying down a red carpet while trumpets announce my arrival. 'Ta-Dah!! All hale. There is a Mother looking to shop on level 2!' Well, it's the least they can do really! 


A close girlfriend of mine loves telling me whenever she can that the best is yet to come. Her most memorable Mummy moment took place while on holiday on the Sunshine Coast. She decided to stop at the local shopping centre with her two boys on the way to the beach. Her boys, 8 and 3 at the time, wanted to play on the mechanical horse outside the chemist - you know the ones that cost $1 and have been there since 1973? Well, she decided it would be faster for her to let the boys play while she picked up their beachy essentials. She said she thought she was in there for no more than 5 minutes when she returned to find her 3 year old had stripped off all his clothes and was riding the horse like Paris Hilton in a home made movie (wink wink nudge nudge say no more). Her eldest was laughing at him. 'What's going on here?' she asked to which her eldest replied, 'He's got an itchy bum and scratching it wasn't enough.' My girlfriend was mortified. She quickly dressed her son while shoppers shot her death glares and tsked tsked at her. Needless to say my friend left immediately and believes she is still scarred from the experience. So much so she never takes her kids shopping anymore unless her husband is with her to watch them at all times.


I know at this stage of my parenting career I don't have that much to complain about. At least I still get to visit Ground Zero once in awhile, but I'd give anything to feel 'thin' again. Thin from the lack of kid's toys, water bottles, spare jackets, dirty nappies etc... etc...for one hour, ahem...sorry, one day of uninterrupted retail therapy. I can see it now... shopping in peace and quiet, in a boutique where the store doesn't make announcements to shoppers over the PA and the Sales Assistant wants to help dress me instead of telling me how adorable my son is before checking the contents of my bag on my way out.  Oh well, it looks like online shopping might have to be my new 'go to' place for a little R&R&R - Rest, Relaxation & Retail Therapy. Don't tell Teach!


Sian x