Week 19: I Wear the (Maternity) Pants in the Family

Happy New Year! I can hardly believe it’s 2006. At midnight on New Year’s Eve, C. leaned down and said to my belly, “Welcome to the year of your birth.” Our baby’s being born this year! In some ways, five months seems like forever. In other ways, May seems like it’s just around the corner.

I’ve already started off the new year differently. For one thing, I was sober. It actually wasn’t that bad being one of the few non-champagne drinkers at our friends’ New Year’s Eve party. It was the first time in years I’ve woken up on New Year’s Day without a hangover. And I did make it till midnight, instead of falling asleep in the onion dip as I had feared. I admit I did feel a twinge or two of envy eyeing the svelte gals in their tight satin dresses and tiny sequined tank tops. But seeing as I can still squeeze into a couple pairs of my pre-pregnancy pants, I guess I’m not too much of a heifer just yet. And anyway, who cares? I’m having a baby this year!

When I was home for Christmas, my mom thought it would be fun to take me shopping for maternity clothes. I don’t really need them just yet, but I am starting to feel a bit constricted by that top button on my pants. Every night when I take them off, I have a red ring around my middle. Can’t be comfortable for the Bean. (I have taken to calling the baby “the Bean,” short for Jelly Bean, even though my pregnancy books tell me this person inside me has now grown to the size of a zucchini. Again with the produce!)

So I gamely went along with my mom to paw through racks of large, elastic-waist pants and tent-shaped tops. Let me tell you, on the fun meter, this ranks considerably lower than shopping for wedding dresses, no matter what my mother says.

I hauled armloads of stretchy, loose, and drawstring garments into the dressing room. The first few swam on my frame like deployed parachutes. The shop girl suggested I strap on one of the store’s fake, cotton-stuffed “bellies” to see what I’d look like in a couple months. I just looked like I’d fastened a flotation device around my waist. Ridiculous. I managed to find a couple pairs of jeans that actually looked like normal-person clothes aside from the large band of elastic at the top. But with a long maternity shirt – the ones that tie in the back or are gathered under the bustline at least give the illusion that you still have a waist – they didn’t look half bad. I steered clear of the maternity bathing suits. No amount of ruching can make those things look cute.

I did break down and buy a few new pairs of underwear, though. I specifically did not get the ones labeled “maternity panties,” I just bought my regular kind a size (or two) larger. It’s a little tough on the ego to purchase undergarments that could double as patio umbrellas, but comfort won out in the end. I really should also buy some bigger bras. Normally, I’d be thrilled by this prospect, except that if there’s anything I hate worse than shopping for elastic-waist pants, it’s trying on bras. So in the meantime, I’m enjoying the voluptuous illusion given by stuffing myself into my too-small ones. Look out, Pamela Anderson!