Earlier this week, I found myself in my local shopping plaza. It’s a gritty urban affair, no Starbucks or tot-play area. But hey, a girl’s gotta buy toilet paper and OJ.
As I made my way to the Target, I remembered that there was a Motherhood Maternity tucked in between the Dippin’ Depot and Payless. At 14 weeks, I don’t need maternity clothing – but my regular kit is starting to strain. And I couldn’t resist strapping on that faux-belly pillow and imagining what I’ll look like come July. A sneak preview, of sorts. Sounds like a lark, right?
Yeah. Right.
Granted, Motherhood is the low rent division of the maternity wear chain. A few zipcodes over at Pea in the Pod, I could be trying on 7 for All Mankind organic denim. But there I was, trying on $20 stretch twill bermudas that were, mercifully, cotton, save for the spandex panel hugging the pillow.
And I remembered. I am not going to look like Nicole Kidman, with the world’s smallest baby bump. Or Gwen Stefani, with the greatest maternity style ever. At 5′4, I’m going to look like a curvy whale in a cheap cotton tee.
Sigh.
When my firstborn was en route, I did splurge on two maternity suits over at the Pea. From the lapels up, at least, I still looked like my competent and professional self. But this time around, I’m not going anywhere fancier than, say, a mall with a high-priced maternity boutique. And I’m quite certain that, barring a heck of a surprise, baby #2 is the last in the series. There’s no point in splurging.
And so Motherhood the Store becomes emblematic of Motherhood the Experience – lots of compromise and sacrifice while telling yourself you’ve still got it.
Wait, what is it, again?
Exactly.
At the moment, it is a pair of $20 olive green shorts with a stretchy waist, size medium. Paparazzi don’t follow me and my kid to the local park and ask who I’m wearing. No one exhaustively Googles my son’s choice of footwear then reports online.
But I’m glad I bought them, because my pair of brown cargo shorts from Old Navy, size ten, bought with “room to grow” back in early March are snug today. And that cheap, chintzy stretchy waistband on those baggy shorts? It’s looking mighty cozy right ’bout now.
Repeat after me: it’s only one summer, it’s only one summer, it’s only one summer.
