Pregnancy rule #6: Where not to shop

Tuesday, 10am:
I'm 6 months pregnant and just learned at the doctor's offie that I've gained 25 lb. I just ate a chicken salad sandwich for Second Breakfast, and am feeling about the size of a duplex. I realize I need to buy bigger pants. Again. Bigger than last time.

Tuesday, 11am:
I take a break from work to walk to the nearby Dancewear shop for a new pair of black yoga pants, the lower half of my daily Pregnancy Uniform. (The upper half consists of a rotating selection of trendy blouses I found one day on Haight Street. The most memorable quote that day from the 22-year-old in the fitting room across from me: "Oh my GOD! These shirts make me look TOTALLY pregnant....that is SO cool.")



I had to upsize to the medium-size yoga pants 3 months ago. And now I upsize again. I believe this would be referred to as supersizing, but I humbly ask that you don't go there.

Tuesday 11:15am
It has taken me, huff, wheeze, 15 minutes to walk two, puff, blocks. I had to rest twice. I feel like one of those 450 lb. people in TV shows who can't walk across the room without almost having a heart attack. I reach the shop and have to rest against the outside of the door for another 3 or 4 minutes and try not to pass out. (Apparently, this isn't abnormal...something about having 50% more blood to pump through my heart.)

FREEZE! This is where, in the movie, the frame would freeze or the camera angle would switch to the look of horror on the shopgirls faces as I swing the door open and almost fall inside. But alas, you are stuck with my point of view. And here is what I saw:

Many young women, all between 19 and 22 years old, all 5'9", all 104 lb. And all built like the dancers they are. Lithe and waifish, yet with rock-hard thighs on legs that ended right under their full and perky breasts. One leggie thing was trying on a sweater with only tights...no pants...because well, who needs pants when you have an ass that holds up your sweater?

And what they saw? That would be me, (see 10AM entry above), waddling up to the counter, red faced, sweating, and wearing my most tentlike blouse. I could ask, without humiliation: "Can you point me in right direction? I need some plain black yoga pants...size LARGE, please."

They stared blankly (trying to hide their pity?), so I whip out my only weapon.

"I'm six months pregnant!" and then sadly, I think their pity only grew.

P.S. I wanted to add, "And before I was pregnant, I too was 5'9", 104 lb, and 22 years old with slim dancer thighs!" But well, um, yeah...before I just wasn't pregnant.