It’s a girl, and maternity clothes suck

It’s been a smidgen since I have updated this here adventure guide. And no, it isn’t because I don’t care about you or the baby anymore, promise. I’ve been busy – finding out that my little stomach monkey is part chinese acrobat, and all girl. That’s right, I am temporarily saved from the horror of sharing a bathroom with two dudes. Praise be to the potty gods, and the makers of pink baby converse.

Along with being pregnant enough to know if Baby Meiners will pee standing up or sitting down, comes the inevitable switch to maternity clothing. I am an unabashed clothes horse, and this is quickly becoming one of the most uncomfortable parts of pregnancy… well a close second anyway to the wonders of round ligament pain (yet another secret pregnancy conspiracy that grandparents-to-be have successfully hidden from the world) and a newfound appreciation for going to bed shortly after the sun sets. Don’t get me started on having to do two.whole.things in one day…

As if adding a small piece of carry-on luggage to my girth weren’t enough, the makers of maternity clothing have decided to torture me by offering clothing in only one of two categories: comfortable and flattering, but way too expensive, or what has to be muumuu inspired garb that itches all over and shows an indecent amount of my newly sprouted cleavage. Yes, it is awesome that I could possibly be mistaken for an implant patient right now, but no, I am not as excited about it as someone who fancies a future in an underwear catalog, or say my husband.

Another problem that the maternity clothing industry has decided they would like to exacerbate for me – I am desperately short. Oh, to be one of you lovely ladies who can buy pants and dresses anywhere – it must be nice. Do you get to eat chocolate kisses all day and ride unicorns, too? In my unicorn-less world there is the sad reality that I have found only one maternity store close by that carries petite sizes in stock.  And I haven’t quite become accustomed to having this baby bump enough to be able to comfortably buy pants and clothing online.  Which leaves me stuck between their stock and naked legs.

In turn, my shoe collection is growing at a rate proportionate to my belly and I am being told horror stories of women’s feet growing by leaps and bounds and never returning to the pre-baby footprint. Shhh… don’t let those sassy, patent leather red heels hear you say that… or my new suede cowboy boots… or those adorable metal-studded clogs.