Maternity Pant Pressure

My waistline lately has been expanding. And apparently I am carrying this baby in my ass, because it's been wasting no time expanding as well. That being said, my pants are getting rather difficult to get on. Well, I can get them on, but unless it's appropriate to wear a poly/wool blend in a Martin cut around your knees, I can no longer really WEAR them in public.
I heard through the pregnancy grapevine to just by a "size-up" to get me through the first part of the second trimester. So I went ahead and did that. And the cuts of "pant" that previously did a fabulous job of concealing all my ugly jiggly bits are no longer really filling the bill. The butt and thighs are saggy while the waist pinches and tugs creating a spare tire that you would not even find in el supermercado. And since I previously bought tops and shirts that accentutated my previously flat belly, this will never do.
The next step in the process is/was the Belly Band. A tube top inspired stretchy fabric band that you pull on under and over your unbuttoned pants- giving them life by allowing you to safely WEAR your pants sans closure. I have worn it. I DO wear it. But when I spy the larger pants that fit without this garment I generally toss this belly strangler aside. It's all about the comfort. And it's right about these days where I wish that they made sweat pants out of denim and a cotton khaki so I could wear them as opposed to these other ill-fitting items.
And then of course, last weekend, my once again very generous Mother, took me to Younkers to try on and purchase my first four pairs of "maternity garment". My initial reaction was, "Wow, I am already not giving a rat's patootie about who sees me naked anymore." Second, "Those pants are sorta huge!" Third, "These pants are HEAVEN! My waste is FREE! FREE! FREE! And my butt is hugged nicely. No more sag!". I was determined to wear them immediately upon my return home.
And then... the part no one TELLS you about? The underlying pressure to avoid maternity pants for as long as possible demonstrating your extreme ability to not get fat in your butt and thighs during pregnancy. And I am falling for it hook, line and sinker. I have sported the most random of outfits in the last week. Stretching my creative juices and maxing out my clothes, especially all things made of cotton, or have a bit of give.
The cozy and cute maternity pants sit in waiting- practically begging me to strip off the tags and yank them on. And believe me, I have tried them on several times. And then in a surge of panic, plied them off as quickly as I pulled them on to opt for something a little "less" maternity.
But today, at 15 weeks along, I give. I am giving in. I am going to sport my maternity jeans under a big long bulky sweater as I lunch and brunch with my girlfriends. I didn't make it to the four month mark, which was my pressure-filled goal, but I can no longer take the pinching waste.
It will be terrific to plow through a breakfast plate of egg strudel and not have to excuse myself afterward for some private bathroom adjusting via tugging and pulling the belly band. And despite the fact that I didn't "make it", I am really not surprised, as I am a piggy anyway. And so it is.

The Good the Bad and the Ugly

It is NEGATIVE NINE degrees outside this morning. I don't know how I am going to manage to get myself out of my cozy pajamas and into the shower and dressed for work on time. The temperature is too much of a deterrent for my level of work motivation. Speaking of which.
I had a meeting with the boss man on Monday. I had been looking for him for a few days and when I threatened through work e-mail that I was about to start stalking him he magically appearred at my classroom door.
We sat down in the student desks. Because when you are going to talk to your boss, do you really sit at your own BIG desk? It felt uncomfortable to me. I wanted to be on a level playing field. And while I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say, I did want to talk to him about some changes I was seeking for next year. Imagine my very own surprise when the whole conversation took a very unexpected turn and I heard myself saying, " I am burnt out, I don't want to be down here anymore.". Down Here meaning in the basement of the school, teaching the ED students in a self-contained classroom.
Unexpectedly, he said, "Oh, just that? I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant too or something awful like that. "
Silence. Ummm... while we are on that subject! I ended also letting that cat out of the bag. Wow. Not a good day for the boss man. And while I wasn't intending on letting him in on my little secret so soon, I didn't see a way to avoid it. "Plus!", I said, "If we need to pull the ole prego card, it would be terrible for the ED students to start the scool year with a sub next Fall.. just saying!".
With my big fat confessional of both my desire to change positions within the school, as well the fact that I am not just getting fat but am with child, I felt liberated to say the least. I felt slightly high all day. By nightfall, however, I began to feel vulnerable. And as a result, because I am completely weird, hormonal, and emotionally maladjusted, I became angry and defenseive to my coworkers on Tuesday and Wednesday. Feeling slightly as if I am failing them, or guilty to be selfish with what I want, or even embarrassed that I am burnt out.
Last night I woke at midnight, my thoughts a swirling jumble of me saying and acting defensively. Snippets of rude comments, jabs, and oh yes, the complete bitching out of the guy I co-teach with for something ultimately that was completely not his fault. Thanks to God for HGTV, the only channel that will play half-hour after half-hour of completely interesting yet dull enough TV shows at one in the morning to lull me back to sleep.
And today, I have a new attitude. I intend on lying low, and apologizing profusely to those I may have offended. I MAY even bring in the school teacher's well-loved peace offering... bagels and cream cheese. This ought to start things right again.

Special Delivery

Personally, I have a pretty weak stomach for all things medical, particularly those things which involve blood, urine, or feces. It makes me gag just thinking about it. And, if my brother and Father are any testament to my own weaknesses, we are all bona fide medical wusses ( SP? - I don't use that word much?? ) Even the mere mention of certain words could send any one of us into a tailspin of gag reflexes or a scared and worried laughter- like the word, ummm vagina? Or scrotum, or even "tissue". Yuckity yuck yuck YUCK. We lean towards the safe with more pleasant sounding synonyms, like privates, down there's, and "stuff". So knowing that..
While visiting my brother yesterday, the subject of "delivery" came up. Mostly because my brother was explaining how grossed out he was while accidently "glimpsing" childbirth before he wisely repositioned himself to a more discreet location. This, of course, was all meant to be some well-meaning advice to MY husband in regards to our own future delivery. As I saw my husband's eyes widen in horror at some of the details, I heard him mutter, " Maybe I won't even be in the same ROOM! hahaha! HAH!! ". My internal response... "Um, NOT. You will SO be there... watching me suffer and scream in pain! You don't have to ruin your "view" but you are nuts if you think I won't be riding on this delivery to get me lots and LOTS of sympathy over the next year, I mean 10 years, I mean FOREVER!! I NEED this ammo and you MUST be there to watch SOME of it!!
The subject then ventured into "safe" vantage points. And in all honesty, I am a fan of the "safe" vantage point. Why risk it? So my brother, once again falling into advice mode, began to explain like this. "If you are a vegetarian and you go into a butcher shop, you are validated that you shouldn't eat meat. If you love meat, and then go into a butcher shop and from then on cannot stomach meat, you will always wish that you had never gone into the butcher shop. Because some people cannot ever forget the visual. And you will not know if you are that guy until it's too late. So, bottom line, if you like steak, don't go into the butcher shop. "
It's only a man who could break down vaginal delivery into eating steak. I think I just puked in my mouth.

Excuses Excuses

There has been, obviously, very little blogging coming from me lately. I blame it primarily on two things. The first being an interesting, yet effective money saving venture and the other, well, the other being my new multiple personality disorder.
Because we received confirmation on Monday from the specialist that "everything looked great", the reality of our situation has settled in. And as we absorbed what the Dr. was saying regarding our potential future son, yes- he saw what he deemed a "protrusion", we have begun the task of cutting back, holding back, turning back and sitting back. In other words, we have turned the heat WAY down. Way WAY down. And have been using space heaters to toast our toes in our tiny condo. I think it's working, but at the moment, we do not have enough space heaters for EVERY room in the house, andI am afraid the room where our computer sits is a bit too cold for me most evenings. So, therefore, excuse number one, it's actually TOO cold to blog around here.
At the same time, I have recently discovered that around 7 O'clock, there is some raging evil girl that climbs into my body and vascillates between rage and exhaustion. She is mean, impatient, and does very little good except wait for the time to tick so she may fall into a deep slumber, putting everyone else around her at long-awaited peace. In other words, I have become my own worst enemy. And if it ain't done by seven PM, it ain't gonna happen. I get SO tired and SO hormonal, that I do my best to scamper myself off to the bedroom in order to maintain damage control. I feel SO sorry for my husband. I am sure as the clock nears 6:30 he starts to wish he were somewhere else. As the week has progressed and I have noticed this pattern taking full swing, I have proceeded with more and more caution each passing day. Bottom line? There is no way, with a 7 PM time limit, that I am going to spend my few pleasant hours left in the day blogging and after...well... after? Just go rent Psycho and you will understand. Not to mention I am scared to death of what my other personality might write. Seriously, she is EVIL!! And there you have it, excuse number TWO.
Now it is 5:47 AM, as I have decided that if I am going to blog it is going to have to be first thing in the morning. I pray that we get a new space heater soon and that this phase of pregnancy evaporates quickly.