I knew the day was inevitable. It was bound to happen. But something in my mind kept convincing myself otherwise; that I was going to be prepared, composed and equipped for when the hurricane hit. Was I actually? Of course not. Have we met?
After months of waiting for my bump to officially arrive in hopes of showing it off and parading around in all the cute maternity outfits I had imagined and laid out in the endless closet of my mind, that day had finally arrived. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, one of the first things occupying my mind was how my body was going to change. It was in all the ways any gal thinks.... ranging from ‘I’ve dreamt since I was a little girl shoving basketballs up my shirt about what being pregnant will look like’ to ‘Holy crap, I don’t want to look like Jessica Simpson’. Both are completely normal reactions... in my book.
The honest truth is, your body is going to change. I repeat..... your body is going to change. And it won’t look like Giselle. Or maybe it will. In which case, we won’t be friends. Either way, I woke up one morning and realized I was living out an episode of Body Snatchers. I stood there in an outfit I had worn over a dozen times and couldn’t comprehend why it looked different. Things weren’t falling how they used too. My once chic oversized tee was now mere inches away from being a crop top. Then I did the worst thing you could do in that moment.... I turned to get a side view of my outfit. Annnnnd...... cue meltdown. Within the next ten minutes I had completely devoured my closet, trying on every combination of shirt/pant/dress/skirt/top I could get my hands on. Then immediately took them each off and over dramatically threw them on our front sofa. Everything felt weird. It was as if I was getting dressed out of a strangers closet. Where did these clothes come from? This was, of course, at 8:00am on the morning I had an 8:30am meeting. (Take note: perfect time to ‘blame the baby’.)
Thankfully, E overheard the commotion and slowly talked me off the ledge.... and out of a crop top. But the moral of the story is not about the dangers of crop tops, it is about the inevitable closet related temper tantrum no woman is immune to. Take it from me, it takes a couple of weeks with your new accessory to really get a handle on how things will look and how you will feel in them. I’ve never been one to wear body hugging anything, and now, I’ll rock a bodycon dress..... without the need for Spanx (read: rebel). Cause really, when else in life can you do that? It’s quite liberating.
After that fateful morning, I vowed to never let my closet explode again. Mainly, because I didn’t want to have to take an entire Sunday afternoon putting everything back on hangers, but also, because I wanted to love every minute I have with this bump-a-roo. You only have it for five of the nine months. And you only get to experience being pregnant for the first time.... once. I didn’t want to waste time being in a fight with my bump. My advice? Take a day and go through your entire closet of what you already own. Try things on and take pictures. Trust me, those photos will come in handy when you need to talk yourself off the ledge again one morning..... ‘Oh right, I don’t look like a blimp in this shirt if I just add a blazer over it’. I went through my closet and noted pieces I could still fit and how to style them with the bump. There were also pieces I had to admit just weren’t going to fly, no matter how I pinned, tucked or tied them. Just remember... they aren’t gone forever, merely on a relaxing vacation until next season. I used this as an opportunity to note the few ‘maternity’ specific staple pieces I was going to actually purchase. But that’s a whole post of its own!