The Uniform of Motherhood

I might be addicted to matching sets.

My first matching set was a baby gift from a friend; a fellow mom who knew that an infant does not know nor care what it’s wearing, but its mother most certainly does.

I’m not exaggerating when I say this outfit saved me. It was a coral mock crewneck sweatshirt with aladdin-esque jogger pants from Target, and it provided dignity in a time when there was so little to be had.

I had just given birth to my second son and wondered, for the nth time that year “what should I wear?” Not, “what would be cute and stylish and make me feel great today,” no this was a much more primal, “is there a garment in this house that can functionally cover my body?” I pulled out my bin of postpartum clothes I’d saved from my first child, and was horrified.

On the top of the bin were two supersoft Lou & Grey tees with massive darkened circles at each breast; a result of so much nipple cream and so little bra. I was transported back to those days after my first shocking entry into the physical demands of motherhood. I had not been prepared for how it would affect my closet. How it would force me to buy new clothes that brought zero joy (oversized fast fashion sweaters that pilled on their first wear; poorly made leggings whose seams twist at the ankle). I had sacrificed the Lou & Grey tees I had loved prepartum (is this a word?) to the nipple circles because it it was a matter of survival. I had ruined these shirts, and then saved them! Saved them because I knew I would need them again, and I might as well not ruin four good tees.

Such was the general state of my closet until the coral set came into my life and changed everything. I was comfortable at home and unembarrassed at the grocery store. Outfitted, with zero thought or energy expended upon putting an outfit together. I was a woman reborn.

Over the next few months (including a Christmas where my only list item was “more sweatsuits”) I proceeded to fill my wardrobe with one for each day.

**Brief pause because yes at first I called them “sweatsuits,” which we can admit among friends they are, right? “Matching set” is clearly the branded version, which elevates them from function to fashion and I have heartily embraced, but still.**

I got to the point where I had a set for Monday-Sunday and reader, I did not deviate from this wardrobe for the duration of winter. When grabbing diapers at Costco I’d see a fellow Matching Set Mom and would look at her and we’d both know. That our lives consisted of so much manual labor, and we just needed to feel and look better than dead. I’d shoot them a look of “you’re doing great!” and barely restrain myself from asking where they got their matching set, only to return home and wish I had asked.

A smattering of matching sets with some awkward poses to set them off.

When Spring began to blossom I felt devastated. What was I supposed to wear? Two of my sets were transitional enough to go with Birkenstocks, but the rest were decidedly winter wear.

As Summer came around I started seeing the summer version of the matching set around (biker shorts with the oversized tee) but I never figured out how to wear it. Did you? Please send links.

Instead I spent the summer in dresses, because airflow, and overalls, because pockets. But I missed my matching sets. The simplicity, the elasticity. I longed for the freezing temps and terrible roads of winter.

Me wearing Lululemon softstreme, which I hate to say gets 2 stars. It’s the softest fabric I’ve ever touched but it stains so easily, and also why is it so cold?? This top is essentially an expensive napkin.

When it finally returned I gleefully pulled out my bin of matching sets, only to be horrified once again. Somehow, they were all stained. Very obviously! And I had saved them! Saved them because….well. Because they first saved me.

I told myself I’d only wear the stained ones around the house, and replaced the ones that were truly ruined. But then one day I discovered a new solution at Target.

There it was, hanging in the Universal Thread section – a black denim structured jumpsuit with a million pockets and a cinched waist, for $44. A set so matching it was one piece; a waistband-less outfit that might pass for real clothes?!

I tried it on, snapped a pic, and drafted a group text:

How much do I look like a mechanic?

Then I deleted it because the answer, I knew, was 100%.

Second try: How much do I care that I look like a mechanic?

Then I deleted this one too because it struck me that the answer was zero.

8 pockets you guys. EIGHT.

My first day wearing the jumpsuit gave me new envy for uniformed professions. Is this how doctors feel? Maybe I’ll become a dental hygienist! How liberating must it be to focus on your vocation with such singular attention! To not be distracted by lack of pockets or an uncomfortable waistline, to know you can wipe your hands on yourself and no one will be the wiser. Going to the bathroom is tricky in this outfit, but was it easy before? It’s not like I’ve peed in privacy for five years, I may as well go all the way and be fully naked for my audience!

Mostly I wondered why the most demanding vocation of all doesn’t come with a uniform.

The first time I wore the jumpsuit, my toddler son grinned at me and asked, “Mom, how do you get that on?” And I found myself saying, “Just like you do your footie jammies, sweetie!” Which leads me to think that all my jumpsuit is really missing is some snaps around the crotch. Like a onesie. Was I wearing a onesie?

We are reborn as mothers and the fashion industry should be responding to this. Yes, Free People is trying with that one romper but it’s not enough. I want this industry, supposedly for women, to think about the practical demands on a mother’s clothing. I dream of a world where the norm at a baby shower is to gift onesies to both the newborn and the mother! To have a maternity collection where you pick a piece you like and they send it in 20, 30, and 40 week varieties. I want a jumpsuit I can pee in without disrobing. A sweatsuit I look hot in.

For now, we have matching sets. May they stay in style forever.

What Rebbie bought this week

A membership at The Big Green — a new indoor playground/co-working space that’s a two minute drive from me. A friend and I went in thinking we’d try it once and both came out with monthly memberships. It’s $19/per kid per month, and I’m not sure I’ll keep it year round but I feel certain it will help me survive the winter. I brought my laptop with me one day and got 1.5 tasks finished while my kids played! I’ll take it!

A bag of Dot’s cinnamon sugar pretzels, for nearly SEVEN DOLLARS. An absolute fortune and I would spend it again because I’m now an addict.

These storage bags for Legos. They just came so the jury’s out on whether I could have just used Ziplocs, but Lego storage is killing me lately. If you have a good solution, please enlighten me!

What Meg bought this week

Massater botox, because it’s the only thing that keeps me from grinding my teeth into oblivion, and Cicaplast balm because my injector told me it’s the best moisturizer to prevent skin irritation after applying a retinoid and I would follow her to the ends of the earth if she said it would help my skin.

This Madewell rugby tee, because I believe in shopping for the season you want (spring), not the season that you’re in.

Squirt Zero Sugar to make my signature weekday afternoon pick-me-up: 1 can Celsius (I prefer a citrus or tropical flavor but any variety will do) + 1 can Diet Squirt plus 2 packets of the True Grapefruit powder.

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Where else on the World Wide Web you can find us

You can listen to Meg on Hive Mind and Strangerville, and read her weekly column at Deseret News.

Rebbie is a monthly guest columnist for the Salt Lake Tribune, and she overanalyzes representation of her religion on her Instagram and podcast Mormons In Media.