Monday, September 25, 2006

Hey Mama

I have finally embraced my maternity wardrobe. I embraced my maternity appetite, sleep patterns, and mood swings some time ago, but I had a hard time giving up my clothes, which I saw as vestiges of my 'normal' (my 'old, never to be seen again') body. So I had taken to wearing a rotating supply of sweats, reluctantly supplemented by a few pairs of maternity pants (thank heaven for that trip to Old Navy, thanks Sandi) and size large t-shirts. This wardrobe selection illustrates one more perk of being unemployed, by the way. No dress code. However, thanks to Jeff's sartorial requirements, I now sit before my computer screen in a pair of magic pants.

Jeff shops for clothing roughly once each year. He peers into his closet, declares that he has nothing to wear, and we pile into the car and head toward (in former times) the mall or (currently) the city shopping district. He selects a store, enters, and loads up on several pairs of pants, three or four varieties of the same shirt, and few pairs of socks. One year, he wore nothing but Gap jeans and ringer t-shirts. If you happen to see him during the next 364 days, he'll likely be sporting the H&M label somewhere on his person. While he was sorting through the shades and textures of this megastore's brown sock selection, I headed upstairs to the maternity area. You see, I've recently noticed a pain around my midsection, and while I would like to blame it on my growing abdomen and its effect on my taut six-pack, it's probably more attributable to the ugly line that the drawstring of my sweats had permanently etched into my skin. Time for a new solution.

As has been my experience in the past, the women's clothing section of H&M was a mob scene. I've never been to one of these stores without spotting a ten-person queue for the dressing rooms; in fact, once upon a time I was nearly escorted out of the New York City flagship store for trying on a blouse in the middle of the sales floor in order to avoid a 30-minute wait. I pulled it on over my tank top, so don't think I exposed any more skin than the tetchy salesman wearing a Britney Spears headset and a skintight t-shirt who told me to "put (my) clothes back on." On Saturday, I remained stalwart in my unwillingness to participate in the dressing room cattle call, so I pawed through the sale rack, eyeballed the size on a pair of maternity sweats, and rejoined Jeff at the cashier with what I hoped were a pair of pants that might get me through the next few weeks.

When we returned home, I tried them on, fully expecting to have to return them to the store due to too-long legs or baggy waistline. But as soon as I dragged them onto my body, I heaved a sight of relief and yanked off the pricetags. No more aching (former) waistline; no more yanking up those low-rise maternity cords; no more stretchy polyester leggings/trousers. These grey cotton sweats with a low-slung drawstring and ribbed high-rise waistband are my new Little Black Dress. I told Jeff this morning that I plan to wear them until they fall off; he suggested that I might come up with a solution for laundry day, so I think I'll head back downtown tomorrow and buy another pair. Or two.

3 comments:

Jeff said...

For the record, I had to use dictionary.com to look up the meaning of sartorial...I am not sure what 'magic' pants are and I didn't even know we had any in our house...but they sound very interesting to me, maybe I should pay more attention, do they come with a particular magic word I should be aware of....

Jeff

Scott Butler said...

What about "queue"? She's lives in Europe for a year and all of the sudden she thinks she can start using the word "queue"? It's line, Blythe, LINE. :-P

EuroTrippen said...

Hey, if H&M's good enough for Madonna... it's good enough for your expanding waitline!

I want magic pants... only I want mine to magically transport my 38 year ass back to 24.