Boobs. I have them. A rather generous serving of them in fact. When I'm not pregnant, I am a 34DD. All my adult life, I have dealt with finding tops that fit. An easy solution to this is to have my clothes tailor made or altered. Unfortunately, these solutions work better if you have a large disposable income. Or, any disposable income really, we do not. In all the years of my marriage, I have either looked like Betty Boop or a female trucker.
Yesterday, I caved and drove the umpteen million miles to the only maternity boutique left in the area. I found that the boutique is nothing like the chain store that used to be at our local mall. The prices sent shivers up my spine. If you haven't heard me say before, I love Mother Earth. I really get excited to find a pair of sandals made out of bamboo or organic jeans. My enthusiasm is curbed by an organic maternity tee that is $80.00...after the 50% markdown. For $80.00 that organic tee had better come with the green equivalent of a teflon coating...because I would have to wear it every single day for the last two months of this pregnancy to almost justify the cost.
I gave up trying on clothes that I liked shortly after walking in. Instead I opted to try on clothes that I could afford. Which meant that I ended up spending $40.00 (after an additional 50% off the 75% off clearance price) on two shirts that were the right size, could be worn with a bra, and weren't neon in color. Today, since it was cool here, the high was only 78, I wore the shirt with a 3/4 sleeve.
It wasn't until some schmuck started to wolf whistle outside Wal-Mart, that I began to suspect that maybe the tunic was a tad too low cut for me. I blew it off, figuring that just maybe he didn't notice the bump because of the shopping cart. I discounted this theory and headed for the fitting room mirrors after some other jackass said," that baby is awfully little for you to be so pregnant, but, I guess I can see why."
My choices are clear. I can, continue to wear the tee shirts of years past reminding me of all my long lost friends like Jack, Jim, and Jose. I can ignore the looks of all the 'in crowd' mommies as they wonder who will care for my crack baby. Or...I can walk around with my boobs hanging out, looking like a hooker that caters to pregnancy fetishes. Got milk?
Musings from the Big Pink: Dead at 25
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