I really wanted to wear a muumuu for the next twenty weeks. I swear. Interspersed with a few clutch academic robes, beach towels and assorted capes. I really did. But here’s the thing – I got this new lawyer job where I have to like, be “professional” and act in a “supervisory role” and “model good behavior for students” and “appear in a court of law”, etc.
Which can mean only one thing, dear readers: we have reached the grim maternity milestone of <dun dun dun> maternity clothes shopping! Thankfully, my parents were in town and my mother was happy to oblige (and C and my dad were happy to get all gendered about it and go to a baseball game).
The next few hours are something of a dizzying frenzy. Like many of these new frontiers in the land of baby-making-conceiving-and-all-things-utero, it was quite the ethnographic experience.
For starters: did you know that maternity stores have bathrooms? BATHROOMS! Private. Bathrooms. For. Pregnant. Ladies (andtheirmothers). Toilet paper and everything. It’s a low bar in the fast world of retail, people.
After that order of business was taken care of because havetopeeallthetime, we moved on to more important matters. Specifically: FAUX BUMP!
|"What's that? You want me to put you on?"|
Admittedly, I’m probably a little behind the
on this. But you guys – maternity stores
have faux bumps that you velcro around your burgeoning gut to simulate the
experience, fit and general ridiculousness of being 9 months pregnant.
You walk into the dressing room and it’s just like, you know, hanging there on the back of the door, real innocent like. And then, like a dutiful shopper without a mind of her own and under the tutelage of the scrawny 21 year old saleswoman who is INCREDIBLY PERKY and wants to know if-you’re-having-a-boy!-and-do-you-have-a-name!-and-is-this-the-first-grandchild!-
you promptly put that padded-everloving-bump on and proceed to wistfully
ponder the following:
(1) It is really, really hard to reach my shoes. Thank goodness they’re flip flops <relief>. (And then, moments later) Well, I guess I’ll be wearing some version of slip-on-flip-flop-flat until December. <deep sigh>.
(2) What’s that? Am I waddling? You think my gait has changed dramatically with the simple addition of this enormous foam padding?
(3) I have swallowed a beach ball.
(4) Many other women have worn this against their bare skin. <Trying not to think about how many other women have worn this against their bare skin...calling mother’s name in terror, begging her to procure tank top>
So where were we. The bump. Which I guess, more than anything, left me feeling like a 15 year old in an at risk youth after school program – like next I’d get my lifelike doll to take home for the night, and see how you like a crying infant now! And then I would always make my boyfriend wear a condom cause shit just got real, we’re too young!, etc. Or maybe that’s just a Lifetime movie I saw once.
The point is, the bump worked it’s magic and my patient and generous mother made me try on LITERALLY EVERYTHING at Pea in the Pod. And I am now the proud of owner of six mildly professional, properly fitting, maternity getups, which will be in heavy rotation for the next twenty weeks. Of course, since there are only six outfits, I will reserve Sunday as muumuu day. Naturally.
 Crap. This sounds an awful lot like “parenting”… <backs out of room slowly>.
 And I’m sure that my anthropologist readers can chime in and quibble with my use of ethnographic, reference the Trobriander of Papua New Guinea and so forth. Seriously though, I have no idea what I’m talking about.
 Too easy.
 Speaking of which, how come the nervous teenager in the Lifetime movie never subsequently finds out that 10 years of birth control were a colossal waste of money and anxiety and that her best hope of getting pregnant will be in a petri dish? I mean seriously. That’s a missed opportunity if I ever saw one. On a related note, I see a future in filmmaking.
 Dark skinny jeans are “mildly professional”, right? RIGHT! (For the record – which I’m sure one of you/”the man” is keeping: AG maternity jeans are basically glorified sweatpants and I will never ever take them off, ever again. Mostly because I have to justify just how expensive they were.)
 Strike that. Let’s get real and go with 30. I have a feeling I may be slow to lose this, ahem, “maternity weight.”
 And (most) joking aside, I found Pea in the Pod to actually, kind of, have decent stuff. (And no, no one paid me for that mediocre endorsement - the CEO of Pea in the Pod is probably having a conniption now that her store has been mentioned in the likes of this riff-raff blog). Along with Gap maternity and ASOS. And that wraps up my official where-to-shop-when-pregnant user manual. <curtsy>.