Clothing Roulette

It’s been interesting so far. I can’t complain too much about those pesky pregnancy symptoms, I’ve had very few. Some constant nausea for the first 8 weeks (weeks 5 – 13 for those playing at home.) And other than the constant hunger and growth spurts in the stomach region I have little negativity to dwell on. This morning I had to slap off my alarm clock which my numb hands. It was somewhat amusing, smack, smack, smack…radio is still on, smack, smack. “Damn it!” Whack. “YES!” Success, Fetus and I can get up now.

I’m a knocking at the door of 24 weeks – though 6 months sounds more impressive. More than halfway there. I can still remember myself with a waistline and yet, when I dream I only see myself with my new “bulbous” shape. The bulbous shape is there when I wake up each and every morning. I miss my waistline, it allowed me to bend and paint my toenails or adjust the strappy heels I want to wear.

Each morning I feel like I am playing Russian Roulette with my wardrobe… I climb out of the shower and make my way back to my bedroom closet which I am not only challenged with forgetting to do laundry – depleting my fashion options but also tempting the fashion gods by not buying a ton of pants with secret belly panels in them. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that the fashion industry cannot fathom someone over 5’ 10” pregnant and so all of their pants in stores are too short. I am reliving my middle school nightmare where all pants hit at the ankle and that is NOT, I repeat NOT the fashionable thing to do. Oh sure, order online… but that means no trying on and repeated shipping costs – awesome. Thanks.

Every morning I repeat the same ritual, I find a pair that I hope still works (jeans or business pants – it doesn’t matter), I step into each pant leg with care and then I yank the two material tubes up my legs praying we don’t stop short this time around. Let’s face it I’m on borrowed time here, pulling, gasping, and repeating, “I think I can, I think I can.” So far I make it to their sky-high destination, I find my trusty tube sock and slide it into place so my pants don’t travel back down in public – I’ve seen this happen and I don’t recommend it. I am ready for another day, out of breath, but ready nonetheless.

One day soon I will come up short in my pant endeavors and I do hope my company won’t bat an eye at a “pants-free” Tuesday.

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