Today I decided that tomorrow...tomorrow I will be a woman. As opposed to merely a gestation vehicle for my future offspring that apparently mostly looks like she didn't have time to wash her hair. Tomorrow I will wear clothes that fit, I will do something with my clean hair other than a ponytail, I will put on make-up...I may even wear shoes that are not tennis shoes or flip-flops. Maybe. Let's not get too carried away.
The motivation for all this surely-to-be-exhausting prep work is that Jack and I are going to a wedding, sorta. I could probably go to this wedding in one of the summer muu-muu's that have been my warm weather dressy staple this year. But I guess the real motivation is that I am so, so, so, so tired of wearing tank tops and scrubs. I want to burn all my sensible cotton bikini underwear. I look in the mirror and want to cut off my ponytail - but I won't because every pregnancy book says no matter what Do. Not. Cut. Your. Hair. When. Pregnant. You will regret it. So I won't. But for one day- I would like to feel like myself again - like maybe Jack is staring at my ass for reasons other than wondering how much of my baby weight is living there. One day.
To this end, I went shopping for a sexy maternity dress. Not possible, you say? You might be correct. And I may be completely inappropriate for buying a jersey dress that shows every curve - including the monster one that is my belly. I should probably have gone with the more practical dress pants and nursing top that I tried on that I could wear to church all fall until I can fit back in my own clothes. That would have been way more useful that a clingy dress that I am unlikely to wear more than twice. So naturally I bought the clingy dress. Feeling pleased with myself, I walked around Target collecting a few other things. Then reality returned as I sneezed without crossing my legs, peed myself a little bit, and remembered I needed pantyliners.