I was feeling pretty fine, or as my sister would say, “sassy”, when I left my house this morning. I had on a brand new summer dress I bought for myself at Macy’s–which is a big deal, because I never buy myself anything– and wedge sandals. It’s a gorgeous day, I had been very productive at work all morning, and I had a lunch date with friends; I was feeling pretty good.
At lunch, after sending the waitress back for even more sugar for our sweet tea, my friends and I discussed the television show, The Biggest Loser. Arguably the show is meant to be inspiring, but for some reason, the few times I’ve seen it, the only thing I’ve been motivated to do during the commercial break is grab another bag of chips. We all agreed, however un-PC, that it’s probably because seeing how much further the contestants need to go compared to ourselves makes us feel complacent (or perhaps secretly good) about our own reality.
Hello Karma. I walked into the preschool to pick up my daughter, strutting in my sweet little dress and rubbing my belly after that delicious lunch and the first teacher I saw gives me the biggest smile and says, “Congratulations! When are you due?”
Mind you, this is not the first time this has happened to me, but the shock and awkwardness of the situation never changes. Last summer at Picnic with the Pops, a beloved former High School teacher actually reached over and rubbed my belly while delivering the same congratulations. Now, I’ve been pregnant many times, but for some reason I can not explain, I’ve never once had anyone say this to me when I was actually pregnant. I would stand with my back swayed, patting my belly eagerly while waiting to share my news and people would merely smile at me and say, “Want a beer?”
So why does this happen to me now? “It’s the dress,” my friend Renee informs me, “You look bigger in that dress than anything else you wear.” Before I could thank her, or trip her to make her fall on her face, she kindly added, “Because you look so tiny in everything else you wear.” Good recovery; I’ve decided we can still be friends. 🙂 After all, she is right. This dress, however cute in theory, is a Fat Dress. Let’s face it: I struggle just as much as the next girl with my self image, so I don’t need any help from a dress that screams “maternity wear.”
During the long drive home from preschool I ran through my list of options:
a) I could exercise. But that didn’t seem like a good idea, especially since I completely agreed with Renee’s apt analogy at lunch that exercising is like doing something illegal. It just feels wrong.
b) I could eat less. Not gonna happen. I don’t eat that much to begin with; in fact I mostly drink. Case closed.
c) I could toss out the dress. But honestly, I like the dress and it is adorable, if only on the hanger.
After much thought I came to a logical solution: Spanks. Spanks (in case you are not a middle-aged woman) are undergarments that magically suck everything in and make you appear much slimmer and sleek than you normally would. I’m not sure if anyone knows exactly where all the “extra you” goes, but honestly who cares as long as it will stop people from congratulating me on my new pregnancy.
Well, now that that’s decided, I am going to celebrate with a big bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I just need to loosen the belt on this dress and I’ll be set.