The postpartum wardrobe limbo

Guest edited by Katie O'Malley

Off the back of last week's post about shorts, Pandora recommended these from Uniqlo: “so good if your tum/butt does not suit drawstring.” An absolute steal at under £30, too.

We all know that getting rid of creases makes an outfit look at least 50% better - but who has time/energy to iron?! Steamery’s handheld steamer has long been my shortcut and it's just launched in chic ice blue.

Tonies has released a four-part Discovery Crew adventure set with the Science Museum. The set contains four Pocket Tonies, each 25 mins long and on the subjects of space, medicine, the information age and the Wonderlab (which is well worth a visit IRL). My five-year-old is hooked.

I recently did a style talk for The White Company at its Sloane Sq store and came across these gorgeous chocolate brown wide-legs. A great summer trouser with pleasing waftability. Add a linen shirt, a tee or pull them over a swimsuit.

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This week I'm delighted to welcome journalist Katie O’Malley as guest editor. As well as writing for leading UK & US titles, Katie is the founder of A Long Way To Go, a women’s health and wellness community exploring pregnancy, postpartum and modern motherhood through honest, evidence-led conversations with the UK’s leading experts. She also has an 18-month-old daughter.

On Wednesday (3rd June) Katie will be launching season one of the ALWTG podcast, a series which addresses the topics that so rarely get properly discussed, from C-section recovery to hair loss and maternal mental health. Subscribe here to follow along.

I love what Katie is doing and am thrilled to host her exclusive essay on dressing in the forth-trimester aftermath. Over to you Katie…

I’ve never been particularly good at parting with clothes.

Partly because I’m a bit of a hoarder. Partly because I’m stingy enough to believe that if I bought something once, I shouldn’t have to buy a slightly updated version five years later when the fashion cycle decides it is relevant again.

I’ve lost count of the items I’ve sold on Vinted or shoved into a charity bag during a brief fit of wardrobe clarity, only to find myself buying a near-identical version years later. Ballet pumps. Butter-yellow jeans. Ludicrously tiny handbags that hold nothing but lipstick and a sense of optimism.

But there is one bag of clothes I am struggling to find a home for: my pregnancy and postpartum wardrobe.

It has been almost 18 months since I gave birth to my daughter and I now find myself in that strange in-between stage of motherhood where some of my pre-pregnancy clothes fit again, some never will in quite the same way, and some new pieces have started to make me feel like myself. Or at least a version of myself I am trying to get to know.

And yet, folded into a bag in the cupboard, are the clothes that belonged to another version of me entirely: the one who was pregnant and then recovering, breastfeeding, leaking, aching and learning how to be someone’s mother. I don’t want to wear them now. I don’t need them now. But I cannot quite get rid of them either.

This is the sartorial limbo of postpartum, particularly as a first-time mum: dressing for the body you have, half-recognising the body you had, and quietly wondering if you want to hand your body over to pregnancy all over again.

Before having a baby, clothes had always been my archive. Most journalists keep cuttings of their work; I keep outfits. They timestamp who I was at a certain point in time, how I wanted to be seen and what I was trying to prove.

Perhaps that comes from spending years as an editor at ELLE, where getting dressed was armour, calling card and sartorial CV all at once. There are pieces I have kept because they belong to that former self: the young journalist trying to look like she already belonged in a world of high fashion long before her salary caught up (read: it never did).

The baby pink Manu Atelier handbag given to me by my first editor. The sample-sale Manolo Blahnik heels I wore religiously on red carpets as a reporter. The Reformation blazer that made me feel like I knew what I was doing as a manager before I actually did.

Keeping those clothes is easy enough to justify. They are memories of a life before motherhood — too sentimental, and in some cases too expensive, to give away. Pregnancy and postpartum clothes are different because they do not feel safely behind me.

For much of last year, I lived in two Marks & Spencer maternity bras (one nude-coloured, one black) oversized button-down shirts and cotton T-shirts stained with a ‘cocktail’ of breast milk, nipple cream, baby sick and puréed spinach. Some of those clothes I look back at with fondness: the soft Chelsea Peers maternity pyjamas that appear in almost every early photo of me holding my newborn on the sofa, the baggy H&M vest tops that made breastfeeding just that bit easier when everything else about it felt disorientating and often painful.

Others are harder to romanticise. The elasticated lululemon tracksuit bottoms I wore on our first family holiday to Mallorca because I couldn’t comfortably fit into any of my pre-pregnancy trousers. The Zara jumpers I pulled down over my C-section scar in winter, their sleeves bobbled from wiping away tears after yet another sleepless night.

They’re not just clothes I wore during maternity leave. They are clothes I endured things in.

Around the 10-month postpartum mark, I began to fit into some of my pre-pregnancy wardrobe again. Not all of it, and not in the same way, but enough to feel a small flicker of recognition. I also started buying clothes for the body I have now, rather than waiting for some mythical return to the body I had before.

On paper, this should have been progress. In reality, it created a new kind of ambiguity.

My wardrobe now contains three versions of me: the woman I was before pregnancy, the mother I became in the blur of postpartum, and the person I am now, trying to find her feet between the two. And none of them feels entirely settled.

The practical problem is simple: I might need these clothes again.

I don’t need the tired-looking feeding tops or pregnancy jeans right now. But if I have another baby, I may need them in a year. Maybe sooner. And if there is one thing more irritating than storing clothes you don’t want to wear, it is getting rid of them only to spend money replacing them later.

So they stay there, taking up space in the cupboard and in my head, making it harder to feel fully comfortable in this stage of motherhood because part of me is already anticipating the next one. I want to buy clothes for the life and body I have now, but hesitate to invest in a wardrobe that might not fit, suit or serve me after another pregnancy.

Recently, a particular kind of Instagram post has started appearing in my algorithm: mothers asking whether this is the year for the postpartum glow-up or the year to try for another baby. It is meant as a joke, but it captures something uncomfortably true. After having a child, you can feel caught between two parts of yourself and fully comfortable in neither.

One part wants to move forward: to feel polished, recovered, strong and visible in a new way. To buy the jeans, ditch the maternity clothes and stop treating every decision like yet another temporary measure that hinges on the unpredictability of parenthood.

The other now knows how quickly everything can change. How a body can become unfamiliar almost overnight. How the clothes you cannot wait to get rid of might soon become the clothes you need most.

This is why the postpartum wardrobe feels so loaded. It is not just about whether something fits or suits you. It is about whether you feel allowed to move on when you may soon be asked to begin all over again.

So the maternity clothes remain in the cupboard. Not wanted. Not needed. Not quite finished with me either.

Unfortunately, even IKEA has yet to design a wardrobe big enough for all of that.

The Edit

I bought this a few weeks ago and love the frog fastening and the fact it looks far more expensive that it is. Shirt, £29.99

My friend recommended this to me and it's the first book I've managed to read since becoming a mum. It's utterly beautiful – everyone needs to read it. Broken Country by Clare Leslie Hall, £4.99

I've been using this during bath times with my daughter and I love the fact it's fragrance-free and doesn't feature loads of cartoons on the front like other baby skincare products. Smoosh shampoo, £8.99

I've always struggled with acne and now I'm postpartum have been wanting to find a moisturiser that's super hydrating. I've been using tester sachets of this recently and adore the texture. Tacha Water Cream moisturiser, £67

I recently dug out my old platform crocs I bought after interviewing Shrimps founder Hannah Weiland a few years ago, who had just invested in a pair, and they're perfect for adding a bit of friction to a 'pretty' outfit. Platform Crocs, £59.99

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Thanks Katie! That's all for now. You're doing great, Frankie x

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