The Band

Before I begin, a quick update: Yesterday, my daily pregnancy calendar stated: "Mom may find her skin drier during pregnancy.  Lotions may help."  And no they do not have a comment section for me to thank them for their informative posts.  I checked.

Now, on to serious business.   When I was 20, if I someone had asked me, "have you heard about the band?" I would have responded with the following phrases/concerns, "I already got tickets to the next show"  "Do you still have your fake ID?"  "I am wearing my yellow and blue patchwork skirt" and possibly "Do you think they will be selling grilled cheeses in the lot afterwards?" 

Now, a mere seven years later, I write this with a sigh, a little smile, and a story that has nothing to do with grilled cheese and hippies.

As the number of pants in the category "Things that Still Fit" continue to dwindle, I decided to buy a Band.   A Belly Band to be exact.  If you know what this is, please do not judge my inability to cope with parenthood.  If you don't - let me paint you a picture.  Imagine your tightest pair of Spanx with the crotch and legs missing.   More like a bandeau top made out of Spanx material. Now imagine that you are going to use this contraption to "extend the wear of your non-maternity pants until the very end of your pregnancy."

Sounds good right?  Yeah, well that's what I thought too.  So the other day, I put a pair of slacks that were not longer buttoning and decided, what the heck - I'll give it a try.  So off I go to a long day in court with nothing but the Belly Band separating my new, size huge, Haynes her Way undies from the world. 

Well, apparently, they should include some freaking directions with this Chinese torture device.  Because here I am in the middle of the courtroom and I feel the sinking (literally) sensation that my pants are slowly sagging.  And then I realize with horror that my damn Belly Band has rolled up to the belt loops of my pants, my zipper is slowly unzipping a little further with every breath I take, and my pants are literally two breaths from falling down to around my ankles.

Whats a girl to do?  I have on a tunic that is keeping my tighty whities under wraps at the moment, but for some reason I think that when my dimply, unshaven thighs are glaring at the mass of people behind me, someone, just someone might notice. 

So, I slowly lower my arms to my sides as tightly as I can, clenching my pants up mildly effectively, and do a cross between a waddle and a shuffle to the nearest bathroom with the mumbled excuse of "you know pregnant ladies, always gotta pee."  Once there I rip the thing off, and then realize well crap I can't button my pants but I can't very well not button them either. Sooo, I end up just putting the durn Belly Band back on above the now repositioned slacks and hoped for the best. 

In case you were wondering what happened....well the same thing kept happening until lunch when I joyously ran home, put on a jogging suit, and made up the excuse of mad paperwork in the office to avoid having to go back to the courtroom for the rest of the day.

 I am going this weekend to buy bigger pants.