Do I really need a more descriptive title?
I realize that many of you have probably heard this tale before. No, no, not because I've told it. After all, it only happened about nine hours ago.
No, you've likely heard it because it was the first thing AM announced as he walked into school this morning.
For those that haven't heard it, feel free to guffaw at my expense.
First, I will start by explaining how my day began.
With wet pants.
Not because I WET my pants, but because my dryer stopped drying, thus making it a rather useless cold air tumbler.
Thinking MotH had selected too little time when he threw them in, I turned it back on and went about my morning.
Forty-five minutes later, the pants are still wet and cold.
MotH is downstairs attempting to do something with a ShopVac. I'm certain it is wishful thinking on his part that it's not the heating element, but I acknowledge the importance of letting him do this "his way".
Anyway, I ran upstairs and dug frantically through my closet searching for new bottoms. Tried to put on my jean skirt. Broke a nail struggling to get it into place. That's a bad sign.
It gets worse.
I finally decided to wear a pair of black gauchos that haven't seen the light-of-day since the beginning of my pregnancy. Even then, they were only used because anything with a true waistband made me nauseous. They're my ultimate "fat girl" pants.
That's still not the bad part.
I grabbed the shirt I'd ironed and put it on. Felt a little more snug then last time I wore it (approximately two weeks ago). No biggie. I'm sure it will stretch a little.
Pulled it down over my belly.
Have you ever noticed how tight a sausage looks in it's casing? Yeah, it was about like that.
Like a boa constrictor, the shirt clung to me with a tenacity static cling would admire.
I knew I couldn't wear it. I couldn't lift my arms! Bend over! BREATHE!!
And I couldn't get it off. Oh I tried. Mercy how I tried. If MotH had been home, he probably could have disentangled me (though I may have had to dislocate a shoulder to get the job done).
I did the only thing I could. I cut it off. Stuck a pair of scissors in the "V" of the neckline and cut from top to bottom.
As the sweet, fresh taste of O2 filled my lungs (and I sucked it in with all the lung capacity I still have remaining) it began to dawn on me that things were changing. I'm not going to be able to get away with the clothes in my closet for the remainder of my pregnancy. My optimistic maternity-wear shopping was coming back to bite me in the butt, or at least strangle me.
The minute we walked in the classroom this morning, AM told his teacher that I had to cut myself out of my shirt.
I knew that pregnancy was full of discomforts. This wasn't what I had in mind.
3 years ago