Being pregnant is kind of like becoming a living science experiment on display for everybody else to enjoy. The other day a 60-year-old woman, who is typically pretty conservative, told me, “Oh my goodness, your boobies are HUGE!”
Yes ma’am, I agree – they’re one step away from getting their own zip code.
And I get it. I’m in on the joke. It is really strange to watch your body expand and change shape by the day. Or the hour, depending on if I had Mexican food for lunch. I’m kind of intrigued about just how big I’m going to get. And how I’m going to keep from toppling over.
But there are still those weird expectations I place on myself. I’m sure I’m not the only one. Like, most of what I read said a first-time mom won’t show until around 16 weeks. And so, for some reason, that number has been in my head as the ideal time to start a bump. Unfortunately, my body decided to start growing a bump around 10 weeks. So I got six weeks of “Wow, you’re showing EARLY!”
And now I’ve magically hit the 16 week mark and I feel like I can finally be proud of this round belly of mine.
We girls and our arbitrary rules. For this reason, I’ve avoided buying maternity pants, instead surviving off a belly band (man, those things are wonderful), and each week my pants zip a little less.
Last week Mr. Right brought me home some maternity capri pants that are work appropriate, and I decided to give them a try on a warm January day. IT WAS LIFE CHANGING. Like, the greatest thing ever. So great, in fact, that I wore those capri pants when it turned bone-chillingly cold. It didn’t matter – you couldn’t rip those maternity capris off my cold, dead body.
And so this weekend I finally broke down and went to the pregnant lady store (which is SO unfashionable – but that’s another post), and bought two pairs of maternity skinny jeans and one pair of dress pants. And I am in heaven. I haven’t been this comfortable in 10 years.
I have a waistband that rises all the way to my arm pits, and I’m okay with it.