Skirting around

I like skirts (although recently dresses seem to have overtaken even skirts -   bizarre really given I actually spend most of my time in trousers).  Anyway, I have quite a few.  A lot of which haven't fit me for quite a long time (I've shrunk) but I've felt strangely fond of them.  And now, I'm finally having a sort out (well, I have to make room for those dresses somehow) and it turns out I'm more attached to them than I thought. 

In order of memory:

There's an a-line, just below the knee bluey-green number with a chiffon underskirt (nicer than it sounds) - my husband bought it for me for Christmas, the year I had Monkey.  Along with some knee high black boots (which he chose himself).  I'd had almost 6 months of swollen ankles and gained 4 stone during the pregnancy.  So, 6 weeks after the birth, I was still quite a bit bigger than my pre-pregnant self with nothing to wear and a New Year's Eve dinner with friends coming up.  We'd popped to the shops, I saw the skirt and it came home with us...  We had a lovely evening, Monkey joined us for much of the meal and we asked our guests to be Monkey's Godparents.

Then there's a full length, floaty brown skirt with a couple of ra ra layers and a small pink rose print (also nicer than it sounds!).  I was with my Mum when I bought it, looking for a skirt to wear to Monkey's Christening (she's come over from Australia for the Christening of all 3 children - to be honest, it's a big factor in them being Christened - with no more babies, not sure when she's next coming...).  I teamed it with a casual pink top and some brown sandals (I am not a fashion queen).  It was a good day.  Lots of friends and lots of family.  Monkey managed not to vomit in church (something he had done spectacularly the week before).  I was quite emotional and felt strangely comforted for having had him Christened.  There are lots of pictures of an 8 month old Monkey having lots of cuddles that day.  I remember my sister feeding him, Monkey not settling for his sleep and my Mum drinking lots of wine.

And then there's a black work skirt, knee length, a fine red strip running diagonally through it - straightish with a bit of a kick at the bottom.  I wore that when we went to Manchester to talk to the lawyers who were developing a case for us in relation to Monkey's birth (a story for a different day).  My Mum was over (Pickle's Christening) and she looked after the boys for the day with a friend of hers.  She was really nervous about having them, about being able to care for monkey properly, doing his medication and lifting him.  I'd left a few instructions.  They got on fine although Mum was exhausted when we got home and said even if she did live in this country she didn't think she'd be able to help with Monkey on her own.  I had a lot of mixed feelings that day in Manchester - good news in that they felt they had a case.  Bad news as inevitably that meant that something could have been done differently when Monkey was delivered. 

And now - now I've written it all down - I can feel better about keeping those memories safe whilst the skirts make their way to the charity shop.  I can give away skirts, but not memories.