Maternity Wear Trauma

Friends, I finally did it. I bought maternity jeans. For many of you, this was probably no more than a baby step in your pregnancy. For me, this was a gigantic leap. This is why.

Having grown up in Utah, I have seen my fair share of maternity wear. And what I have seen over the years has not been pretty: polygamist-inspired plaid jumpers with frothy lacy collars, huge polyester pants with elastic waistbands generally favored by grandmas, and dresses roomy enough to make Ringling Brothers weep with envy. When my clothes started to get a little tight a few weeks ago, I entered a state of complete denial that this would be my fate. I wrapped a rubber band around the button on my jeans and thought, "I can make this work for nine months. I can!"

Soon after, I heard about a potential miracle device called a Bella Belt. In case you don't know what this is, it looks kind of like a tube top made out of a cotton/spandex blend that you use to cover up your unbuttoned jeans. I quickly ordered two of these little beauties online and prayed for fast delivery. My rubber band was already reaching its limits.

Well, I waited for them to arrive. And I waited some more. Two weeks went by and my pants got tighter and tighter by the hour. I didn't realize how bad the situation had become with my jeans until I put on a skirt one evening and discovered how much easier it was to breathe. It was time to face the truth: I wasn't going to make it to whenever our lax postman decided to drop the Bellas in my mailbox. It was time for drastic measures. It was time for (DUN DUN DUN!) maternity pants!

In all honesty, it wasn't really that bad making the change. I have actually had a great experience with them since I just sucked it up and accepted that I was going to be wearing pants with ugly stretchy panels and elastic waistbands for a while. The nicest surprise was, well, those suckers are pretty darned comfortable and really forgiving of your big thighs, wide butt, and formidable pooch. As a matter of fact, I wonder why people ever want to go back to wearing pants that aren't 90% spandex and sized in just small, medium, and large. Maybe I'll run for Congress one day and get a bill passed saying that all women's pants have to be stretchy and comfortable--generously sized, butt-crack and wedgie resistant, and comfortable enough to fit you with ease even when you're retaining water or ate a big cheeseburger the night before. If all pants cradled our bodies like pregnancy pants do, it would be easier to love ourselves. If our waistbands weren't in constant war with our love handles and our skinny jeans weren't cutting off the circulation to our legs, I think the world would be a kinder, gentler place.