Stuck.

*I've attempted to avoid maternity clothes as long as possible in this pregnancy. Not because I have anything against maternity clothes, per say, but there is so much flowy, loose, and lightweight goin' on in the regular-clothes-wearing world these days, that the flowy, loose, and lightweight have trumped the skin tight maternity attire I see everywhere.

Yesterday, as I comfortably slipped into one of my most comfortable belly hiding tops to meet a friend for dinner, I was reminded of a cold day in February 2009.

One from the archives today.

Have a great weekend, everybody.

Originally posted February 10, 2009.
========================================================================

I decided to take the youngest tots to the mall today while the oldest was at preschool.

Because it's 60 degrees out. And, that kind of weather deserves a celebratory shopping excursion.

I went into this - how shall I say it? - "uppity" store to see if I could find something to wear on a hot date I've got with my hubby on Saturday night.

The budget I had in mind was about $3.99, and I think that normally might have scored me a button. Or maybe one finger off of a glove.

But, I saw 75% off, and thought, "Eh, maybe Max won't spill his cheese on cheese crackers all over this snobby pristine store and there will be something that will make me look like a hot Momma instead of the cold pudding that I feel like these days."

High expectations. On both counts.

A trail of cheese on cheese cracker fallout followed us all the way back to the "I'm just browsing and too cheap to buy the stuff in the front, but thank you for asking" section of the store.

I found three semi-cute tops that seemed capable of hiding any evidence of belly pudding. And, hung them on the stroller.

I coaxed Max into the dressing room, and pulled the first shirt over my head. I squeezed and squirmed and finally got it onto my body and glanced at the mirror.

Let's just say cellophane isn't that snug on last night's leftovers.

My arms were starting to feel like the nurse was about to prick me with a needle and remove the elastic band that was turning my fingers purple - when it hit me.

I'm not gettin' out of this thing without a struggle.

I tried to pull it over my head. Nada. No budgey.

I tried to slip my arms out through the bottom. Nope.

I wrapped both of my arms around me in straight jacket fashion and yanked and pulled. Not a movin'.

Meanwhile, my adorable tot was coating the mirror with cheese. Lovely. But, an attempt at stopping him would have produced rips and tears heard 'round the world.

I realized that I would soon be calling the sweet, skinny 20-something who was surely sweeping up orange crumbs from the "Irresponsible parent with a cracker-toting toddler was here" floor and explaining to her that after you have kids, your body does strange and mysterious things, and that the predicament I was in was simply evidence of the wonderful bliss that is bearing a child.

But, the idea of her seeing my half nekked body was too much to bear. I was gettin' out of that thing, so help me God.

I was squirming and fighting and wiggling...

When I heard a little voice from the side seam of the shirt whisper, "I'm called a side zipper. You wouldn't know that 'cause you usually buy El Cheapo clothes and we don't hang with those types."

I told it to kiss my butt.