Why I will be wearing a burlap sack

Being twelve weeks pregnant with my second baby, I have, as the pregnancy books like to say, "lost my waist." Although when you don't have much of a waist to begin with, I think a better description might be, "too fat for the fat pants". I finally hauled out my box of maternity clothes, but I'm at that awful in-between stage, where your regular clothes resemble sausage casings and maternity clothes look silly.

But I have to go to a wedding next weekend and of course I have nothing to wear. So I went to the mall today in search of a comfortable, friendly-to-nonexistent-waists dress.  

Being twelve weeks pregnant with my second baby, I have, as the pregnancy books like to say, "lost my waist." Although when you don't have much of a waist to begin with, I think a better description might be "too fat for the fat pants". I finally hauled out my box of maternity clothes, but I'm at that awful in-between stage, where your regular clothes resemble sausage casings and maternity clothes look silly.

But I have to go to a wedding next weekend and of course I have nothing to wear. So I went to the mall today in search of a comfortable, friendly-to-nonexistent-waists dress.  

I tried not to look at the maternity store. I really did. The Maternity Clothes Store looks like it's full of cute stuff. Stuff that looks like it might fit you. The clerks look like nice people and prices look fabulous. But that is all before you enter the store, try a few things on, attempt to buy the shirt that fit better than the rest, and are forced to give up your phone number, address, due date, blood type and high school boyfriend's middle name so the clerk can enter it in her Top Secret Computer. When you get home you realize the prices really ARE that good, but that's because the clothes fall apart after one washing.

Oh, the maternity store and I do not get along. I might have even declared I would have my next baby in the back seat of a taxi before I shopped at that store again.

But you know, at the mall today, the windows of the maternity store were full of super cute dresses that were practically screaming IT'S SPRING! And how could I resist that? Plus, did I mention how great the prices are?

So I wheeled Jack into the store and let him brush his hand along all the polyester two-piece outfits while I perused the dress rack. I kept my head down, the better to hide from the chirpy clerk, but she found me anyway.

There's nothing wrong with a "Hi, can I help you find something?" from a pleasant sales clerk, but nothing was going to stop this woman except a FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, LEAVE ME ALONE forehead stamp. She wanted to know what I was looking for, why I was only looking for dresses, what time of day the wedding would take place, in city or out, color preference, relation to the bride- I wanted to plug her up with Jack's pacifier. I'd picked three dresses off the rack and finally sent my sales lady away to hang them in a dressing room for me.

And the dresses, oh, they were terrible. How can clothes look so adorable on a hanger and so frumpy and misshapen when you're wearing them? Maternity clothes have a special knack for making you look even dumpier than you expected. One dress made me look like I was wearing my grandmother's house coat. Another was trying very hard to act like a regular dress, but ended up revealing a little too much skin for a twelve weeks' pregnant woman with no waist. The last one- how can I describe it? If sheath dresses are all wrong for you when you're not pregnant, you shouldn't try on a sheath-ish maternity dress when you are. It will make you feel like you ate the food court's entire inventory for breakfast.

Oh well, I said to myself. At least I won't have to offer up my email passwords and my college grade point average to buy one of these dresses. And I won't have to chit chat with the clerk while we're waiting for her company to sell my information to every baby merchandise retailer in the country.

Jack and I were just about to escape when the clerk popped out of nowhere and said, "Oh, nothing worked out for you?"

And I said, "Yeah, I'm going to keep looking."

And she said, "Well, you're not that big yet, I bet your real clothes still fit you."

Was that supposed to make me feel better? It didn't. Because she was implying I am ALWAYS waist-less. So I ran over her with the stroller and resolved never to go there again. The end.