It was bound to happen eventually. I am nearing the end of my first trimester, after all. I have known that at some point I would have to part with my normal, cute wardrobe. And I dreaded it, not out of a fear of pregnant corpulence but because I like my clothes.
But it’s started: I have a giant muffin top. It’s only going to morph into a cake and then a watermelon. We’ve reached the point of no return, folks.
Let’s get this straight; I have always carried my junk in the front. I have by no means a small waist and that’s OK by me, as long as I can get jeans that make me look like I give a damn, which I have always been able to do. The rest of me is not skinny but healthy, and that’s all that matters, really.
Yesterday my #1 Jeans (you know them, that one pair of jeans that always makes you look great no matter what you pair them with, that have the uncanny ability to turn a borderline bad day into a somewhat pleasant day) were in the laundry, so I had to resort to #2 Jeans in my arsenal of awesomeness. The instant I put them on I had a craving for coffee to go with the giant muffin I was rocking.
Granted, I should have seen it coming since I really haven’t worn these jeans in several weeks and they do tend to be a little snug on bloaty days, but after zipping and buttoning them, I felt like an impostor.
“Silly girl,” the jeans said, “you’re pregnant now. You can’t wear me unless you want to pair me with that orange tunic your mother gave you two years ago and we all know you hate.”
“But jeans, I love you! You’re supposed to have stretch! See, right there in your label you say STRETCH really big. And you’ve always been so understanding in the past!”
“There’s only so much I can do for you. Sorry.”
“But think about the good times! Please recall how I bought you in Korea, the lonely size 8 in the store. You would’ve had to stay among the 0’s and 2’s indefinitely had I not come around. Remember when your belt loop broke but I still loved you and sewed you up? What about the time in Paris when you were my trusty companion. You’ve seen the world, and now you say there’s nothing you can do?!”
“I don’t do muffins, and I don’t do babies.”
I realize now that it’s not going to be long until #1 Jeans falls prey to the MT and will have to be retired for maternity wear, but I am going to savor them until that day arrives, even if that means that they won’t be washed for weeks on end. Love makes you do strange things.
I now have a craving for muffins. Off I go!