I did the math this morning. Between having Clara, overlapping nursing and a second pregnancy (with Winton) and then nursing Winton ("chin chin" as he pronounces his name), it has been 4 years and 21 months since my body was last for my use only. 4 years and 21 months of being either vessel (i.e. pregnant) or lunch (i.e. nursing). 4 years and 21 months of living provisionally in the mode of "Well. These pants will do while I'm pregnant/ losing the baby weight" and "Hmm. Well. This shirt will have to do til I'm done nursing."
Thus, I have a wardrobe full of clothes from 5 years ago. It includes "bootleg" jeans that now fit again, but which I shouldn't wear because the last five years have ushered in the return of "skinny" jeans (how sad that those weren't flattering on me even in 1988) and lurid ski sweaters cut just above the hip, with horizontal stripes.
I have a closet full of who I was at 35, which now, surprisingly, fits again but which has a) gone out of fashion b) doesn't acknowledge that I have turned 40, had two children and successfully gotten tenure.
At 35, wearing the second-hand puffy coat (warm, hideous) acquired during grad school was OK.
At 40, it's not. I'm not sure why not, but it's not.
Clearly there is more to my mid-life crisis than turning 40. I've got "over the hill" juxtaposed with "welcome back to being someone you barely remember" with a large helping of "and everything about your life has now changed" on top.
Inconvenient additional detail: "disposable" income now entirely devoted to disposable diapers and daycare so there isn't actually a budget for obliterating the old wardrobe and starting over.