Clearly I am not qualified to speak on the topic of clothing, but I really would like for someone to explain to me how a particular item made with stretchy stuff is vastly different from another item made with stretchy stuff. This morning the belly emerged from the bedroom and declared "this dress makes me look HUGE! To myself, I said "uh, okay, I I cannot tell one iota of difference" out loud I said...nothing (see! I'm getting smarter!). I merely gave a puzzled look like what she said made no sense at all and prayed she would get distracted before I was forced to come up with some sort of English language response. The belly stared at me with a look that can best be described as: You. Are. A. Moron....
Now, she is definitely beginning to show, noticeable, but not what I would call "huge" by any stretch. So how am I supposed to manage this new minefield? I would like to survive until the actual birth, and I am becoming increasingly worried I ain't gonna make it. I think I got the food part down, although the belly picked up the lunch bag the other day and even without looking in it, stopped it it's tracks and said "it's kinda light, isn't it?" whoops, my bad, let me cut up some carrots and celery my love. See, I got this, but with the clothes, I am in uncharted waters. I have known my wife long enough to know which parts to compliment, her hair, her skin, her legs, all of which she is in general agreement that they are very good features. I stay away from problem areas(if you're reading this my love, I'm just kidding, you're PERFECT, you don't have a single thing that's not beautiful) and this has stood me in good stead. No melt downs, no angry recriminations. I have also learned to evacuate the bedroom while the ritual of getting dressed happens, avoiding even the remote chance that I might give astray glance that would be interpreted as anything negative. I don't ask why 3 or 4 or more outfits are on the floor, because I know when an outfit doesn't pass muster it should not be given the respect of being hung back up.
The belly however, has changed the rules. Evidently if I am not in the immediate vicinity of the bedroom when the clothes are tried on, I must be sought out and cornered like the dog that I am so I can bear witness to the offending article. Maybe I need to start hiding in the bathroom, faking gastro-intestinal distress is better than having to verbalize my opinion. My advice, the belly don't want no stinking opinion, so do whatever you got to do to not give one.
And lastly, I fear we are about to cross the line into that no-man's land, gigantic underwear. I was informed today that the current undergarments are no longer up to snuff. No Be-band is gonna help me now, I fear the arrival of the large cotton preggo-panties is at our doorstep. So like a good soldier, I will shrug and say "they're not so bad, as long as you're comfy". But inside, I weep. I love the belly, and I am going to miss some things, but hey, we're in this together aren't we?
No comments:
Post a Comment