I’m officially four months pregnant. It’s been a wonderful experience so far. I haven’t had any problems with morning sickness or sensitive smells (thanks to my extreme allergies that have gone into overdrive this fall season). And I’m particularly proud that I’ve been able fit into my normal pants this far along. I consider myself really lucky.
I knew that my luck was running out, so I went in search of maternity pants for work this past weekend. The trip was a dead-end. I tried on a few pairs and thought, “These feel too big!” and “I’m not ready for this yet!” So I backed slowly out of the store thinking I’d be back in a few weeks when my bump was bigger. And then this morning happened.
I’ve got a big event at my work tonight and it requires professional attire. I’ve got a beautiful new shirt and black blazer that looks awesome on me. I just needed to find a pair of black pants to match. It’s a chillier day, so I was interested in wearing real pants, not just summer ankle-cut slacks. I grabbed the only pair I had in my drawer and of course, the button is just an inch too far from the hole. I could only look down at my swollen belly in dismay. This was not happening. And my usual fix for this type of quandary is to jerry rig a hair band and loop it around the button, but these pair of pants weren’t that big on me. So I stood there, looking in the mirror, cursing myself for not buying a single pair of maternity pants suitable for work attire this past weekend. I started to tear up.
I try my best not to feel like carrying my child is a burden, but this morning, I couldn’t help it when a few tears rolled down my cheek. It’s just inconvenient when your clothes don’t fit! It’s not like I didn’t know that this would happen. Other mothers have warned me of my impending “popping” and I just smiled and thought, “yeah, one day that’s going to happen, but not today!” as I greedily buttoned up my stretchy skinny jeans. These thoughts did not help me feel any better about myself this morning.
My husband watched the meltdown take place and while he usually tries to make a joke to lighten the situation, he didn’t know how to make this particular situation any better, so he was smart to keep his remarks to himself and just let me deal.
I ended up whipping off my black pants and substituting them with a pair of my reserve stretchy jeans. I’ll worry about wearing my pants with a belly band combo later tonight. I still need to get through the day and I can’t be fighting with a waistband that needs constant adjusting every time I get up from sitting down. Procrastination at it’s finest.
As I took one last look around the house for things I’d left behind before I left for work, my wonderful husband told me, “You’ve got the beautiful part down.” I’m so thankful he loves me even when my pants don’t button anymore.