Post for Props ... and wishful thinking.

This past weekend I took my "Buying for Baby" spree to a whole new level.  If you will recall, weekend before last I bought a rug and a mirror (which it turns out will not technically be for baby after all...it just looks too good in the dining room, sorry Peanut).  Well this past weekend, I jumped in with both feet  and bought the crib, the glider/ottoman, the bedding, and began the elusive search for the perfect dresser and bookcase.  And now, the mad props go to:  (pause for suspense building) Nursery Rhymes in Jackson with the hand holding and direction of Bethany - if any of you are pregnant or know someone who is pregnant (which you all do because I assume you know me if you are wasting your time reading this crap) you should really check this place out.  They pretty much have the whole nursery/baby/cutesy thing completely figured out. 

For example, I went in with one simple request: I do not want to wait until we find out what we are having to pick out baby bedding because I do not want a gender specific nursery and the only idea I have is this rug I bought and I want it (the nursery) fun, colorful, and comfortable. 

*The husband says I have to make everything difficult because I am a liberal, hippy who has to be different and probably want to put peace signs and flowers on the wall. Only when you are designing a nursery would wanting to go neutral make you a tree hugging world changer.

So anyways, Bethany did an amazing job and somehow managed to pull together a delightfully cute nursery that does not scream "A BABY LIVES HERE" but also does not scream "AN IDIOT WHO HAS NEVER HAD A KID PICKED THIS STUFF OUT."  Pictures to come...let me just say, Peanut is going to be a having diaper leakage on some pretty awesome bedding.

Now, as you can tell from the ever descriptive title of this post - the first part of this post was for props and the second was for wishful thinking.  Last week, everything was rocking along so swellfully (yes I just made that word up) that I was beginning to think I would have to put on the rose colored glasses for good.  But, lucky for me, the darker side of life came roaring back Saturday as I entered my now regular Jackson stop of Motherhood.  I walked into the store to pick up some maternity leggings because the last time I put on my regular leggings I had an imprint of the elastic waistband on my gullet that lasted for three days.  And I ended up having to take them off during the middle of the day at work - which of course leads to you wearing a sundress at work in January with white, pasty, kind of hairy legs.  Its frowned upon in the legal community. 

*The following recounting is worth reading for the simple fact that it is true and involves the fantasy of one large pregnant woman beating down a not so large pregnant woman.  However, it will involve TMI (too much information for those of you not up on the latest Internet lingo) for some.  This is my disclaimer.

So, into Motherhood I go to find a nice pair of leggings, and I pass a girl who is shopping in the jean section.  She is one her phone and I hear her say I found some maternity jeans in here but they are $100 dollars.  I think to myself, how sweet, that nice, skinny girl is shopping for maternity pants for her friend.  Well  I waddle past this nice, skinny girl and realize that the maternity bras are all on sale.  As I look down at the poor, misshapen bra that once housed my normally sized, normally perky boobs I thought, well heck, I will get one.

Me and the skinny girl get to the dressing rooms at the same time.  I have an assortment of bras is sizes I did not know existed and she has a pair of jeans. One pair of teeny tiny little jeans that I would not have been able to wear if I starved myself for a year, much less now that my rear has reached the back of knees.  A flash of ugly thoughts races through my mind...."that twerp is in here buying maternity jeans for herself, but she isn't even showing, how dare she, I should force feed her bacon, etc, etc." You know the drill.

As I am trying on nice, sturdy bra after bra, I hear her say into her phone, "the extra smalls are just swallowing me.  I just don't know when I will be able to fit into maternity jeans.  I am in my big zeros in my regular jeans and I am just miserable. But the maternity jeans are just so huge." I have to quit listening a second to fish the clasp of a bra from the depths of a fat roll, and then tune back in....

"I mean I do feel skinny in all these maternity clothes, I mean I don't know who can even wear them." Okay now she's done it.  I start to pull my size Large maternity top back on around this still too small maternity bra with the full intention of showing her just who wears these "maternity clothes" when the good-intentioned but ill-timed sales clerk yells through the dressing room curtain at me, "Try this bra, its our fullest coverage available, and I got you a bigger size.  Many women find it helps get the breasts off the stomach and out from under the arms."

I wanted to sink into floor.  But instead, skinny girl left to try a size two in non-maternity pants at Old Navy, I bought a bra that could literally be used as a raft for Cuban immigrants - a whole bunch of 'em - and some leggings and waddled to lunch.  All that trying on had made me quite hungry.