Happiness is a Warm Pair of Dave's Sweats

There are few joys simpler than a sweatpants day.  I had one yesterday.  It started off at the crack of dawn.  Darling Coraline was screaming at 5:00 (I hate FDR--he clearly didn't have small children when he instituted Daylight Saving Time), ready for her first breakfast.  It was cold in our house & I fumbled around in a laundry basket in the dark looking for some beefier clothes.  I put on some sweat pants & a sweatshirt, took care of my baby & then crawled back into bead for another hour.

When I got up, imagine my surprise when I realized I had hit a mini-goal without even knowing about it.  I was wearing Dave's sweats!  This may not seem like an accomplishment.  Anyone who has seen my husband sweat will wonder if I've lost my mind wanting to wear any of his previously worn clothes, clean or not.  Nonetheless, it a right of a wife to be able to raid her husband's clothes, particularly on days when she's feeling like bumming around the house.  I hadn't been able to wear Dave's britches for YEARS.  Though I got below Dave's weight a little while ago, the hips just wouldn't allow me to wear his pants without looking obscene.

Dave, usually so supportive of my goals, was less than happy with my achievements.  He seems to think that he's never going to be able to wear his own stuff now.  He graciously let me keep them on yesterday but was quick to add that he didn't think it needed to be a regular occurrence.  We shall see.  I don't want to have sweats days every day, but by golly when I do, it's nice to know I have options.