Feeling Hot. Or Not.

There is nothing I’d rather spend my Saturday evening doing than trying on clothes under fluorescent lights in Target while listening to various children scream or cry around the store. Especially when I’m pale and splotchy and flabby. You know how flattering fluorescent lights can be. A treat, really. I’m considering installing them in front of every mirror in my house.

Pregnancy hasn’t been very bothersome so far – sure, the random nausea and hanging out with the toilet gets old, and, yes, I could probably do without the pain in *ahem* certain places, but honestly? It’s not enough to make me want to do this again.

In the past week, though, my belly has grown to a point that makes about 80% of my wardrobe unwearable. Maybe that’s dramatic. Whatever. On Thursday morning, I tried a dozen shirts on before settling on a plain brown American Apparel t-shirt with an open cardigan. Empire waist shirts? Make my belly look HUGE (something I’m not quite ready for as I still haven’t told most of the teachers at school. I still have issues with thinking I’ll have a miscarriage. Which are issues to talk about another time. Or not at all,  really, since it’s depressing.) Don’t even talk to me about button up blouses. I think our days are over for a few months.

My body is basically that of a curvy 12-year-old. I am small. As in, I didn’t weigh enough to give blood until now. As in, XS petite bottoms and XXS petite tops in the women’s non-junior’s section. My chest has always been small, too. Everyone else in college was going to Victoria’s Secret and coming back exclaiming, “I’m a C! What!? I’ve been wearing an A!!!” I went and they told me I was a 32A. (Which? Totally not. I tried one on and couldn’t move or breathe. Basically a booby corset. AWFUL.) It’s not that I don’t have thighs, or hips, or a belly – oh, I do. Complete with cellulite and flab. Woo! I am just small.

I have enough trouble finding clothes that don’t make me look like a teeny bopper without adding a Buddha belly in the mix. I bought a BeBand – which means I can wear my regular pants unbuttoned. But it gets old having to manuver that on and off my pants when I’m peeing approximately 32 thousand times a day. I have a few maternity shirts that my mom has snagged from Target clearance racks – but those leave enough fabric in the belly for a family of three. I have a pair of Gap maternity pants that I got at a consignment sale – and I LOVE them and their elastic band – but they’re two sizes too big. And I can’t bring myself to spend much money on clothes that I’ll only wear less than five months!

I just feel sloppy all the time. I’m either pulling up my unbuttoned pants or wearing just a t-shirt to work or wearing jeans two sizes too big. Look up “hot mess” – you’ll find a familiar face. I remember reading that when you’re pregnant – you’ll be willing to spend $50 for a plain old shirt if if makes you feel better about yourself. I balked.

But, I nearly bought an ugly pair of $30 khakis today at Target just because they sort of fit. Sort of.

And don’t get me started on the boob situation. It’s just a mess. Sure, it’s fun to be bigger for once – but I have no idea what size I am. I bought a  bra a cup bigger a month ago, but I’ve already grown out of it. I measured and plugged in the info online and it told me I’m a size I couldn’t find at Target. I also need to buy a bigger sports bra, but can’t bring myself to buy one since I have two practically new ones I bought right before I got pregnant. Have I mentioned? I’m cheap. Possibly the root of these problems.

It was a failure of a maternity clothes day. I didn’t have a Gap Family & Friends discount – so an hour spent researching and filling my basket was fruitless. Target’s maternity selection was pathetic. I ended up only getting a $4 shirt at Target and as I checked out, talked myself into buying a vitaminWater as a treat for my clothing failures. Walking out to my car, I opened it up eagerly to find that it was completely frozen.

So I came home, shook the bottle like crazy, and drank ice-laced vitaminWater while I purchased far too many bras from Victoria’s Secret in my Official New Internet-Calculated Size. At least if I have a bra that fits me, I’ll feel halfway human, right? Next up: getting a gift certificate to a place that sells petite maternity clothes. Does that place even exist?

(Yes, I realize in the Grand Scheme of Things, feeling crappy about the way I look and not finding a bra at Target is unimportant. I realize I should be happy my baby is healthy. Be happy I am pregnant. I realize this, so please understand that I just need a space to let down my hair and scream into my pillow.)