We have a wedding to attend in Maui on March 29th, and I needed something to wear. As of last Wednesday morning, I have started to manifest outward pregnancy signs; meaning, I am showing if you know I am pregnant, and were you suspecting I might be pregnant, you could start to wonder. Like if I were famous. My stomach has turned hard, my waist is expanding, and my boobs are not getting any smaller. I tried on the dress I wore to Kira's 20 year high school reunion, and it miraculously still fits over those large boobs, but I needed to get a large bra to go with it. The utilitarian and extremely comfortable organic cotton sports-style bras that I wear every day just aren't going to cut it. I figured I should also get something for the rehearsal dinner and perhaps a few things for lounging comfortably and being generally beachy.
I decided to measure myself using the ridiculous computations they use to determine a woman's bra size. I have never understood why men get to have actual measurements for clothes shopping when most of them barely care, and women get numbers that correspond to nothing. The bra sizing is stupid. Measure around your rib cage then add 5. Then measure around the fullest part of your rack; the difference between this and your band size is the cup size. I came up with 31 (plus 5 = 36) and 38 (difference = 2 = B cup). According to the measurement instructions from two websites, I should be shopping for a 36B bra.
Excuse me for a second....
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Ok. I am better now.
Who are they kidding? First of all, I already wear a 34C when I am not pregnant, which is most of the time. Secondly, my breasts are now entering the realm where they could be described using the nomenclature of my least favorite fruits: melons. A 36 B would be comical on me at this point, like using a doily for a tablecloth. I figured I was probably a 36 D.
Christine volunteered to help me on Saturday with the dress shopping. We were also going to visit a yarn outlet, which is the knitter's equivalent to a crackhouse. The outlet was smaller than I would have hoped, but definitely something worth checking out periodically when I am in the neighborhood. I didn't get anything because I managed to practice restraint: if it wasn't stunningly gorgeous or matched something in my queue of projects, I did not need it. After the yarn, we went to "Hot Mama", a boutique-style small chain of maternity shops. I figured I could look for a dress that I would be able to cutely wear now, later when more pregnant, and even later after pregnant.
To their credit, they have really cute clothes. Unfortunately, they also have cute salesgirls who really REALLY want to help. I don't like help. A young woman came up to me by the clearance dresses introducing herself and apologizing for the delay in getting to me. I did not tell her that she could have been delayed for a week doing mountain rescues on Denali, and I would not have cared--I am capable of shopping without assistance. I told her that I was just looking for a dress for a wedding in Maui, and she grabbed one of everything, ignoring that I had two in my hand from clearance and was not looking at regularly priced items. After checking the price on an adorable shirt and finding it to be 120 dollars, I figured out that the only reasonable prices would be in clearance. Very few shirts are $120 worth of adorable. The baby itself will be $120 dollars worth of adorable, I hope, but I would not even buy it a piece of apparel so pricey. I want to be attractive while I am pregnant, but I don't need to be irrational to do so.
I tried on the three dresses I had chosen from clearance and ignored her choices. Christine and I agreed on one, a cute black and white print halter number, and I bought it and escaped. Why everyone also needs all your personal information to buy a dress is beyond me. I acquiesced to this request because I was so eager to get out of there. Now I know I don't need to go back, at least.
As we were leaving, Christine said that she told them that I was more likely to buy something if they left me alone, and they still could not resist.
Yesterday, I went looking for bras. For you-know-whats and giggles, I looked at a 36 B, and it actually did make me giggle a little bit. There was no way in my world or even in the wizarding world that I was going to get a boob into a B cup. I grabbed a 36 D in two styles that I already own and liked back when I wore cute normal bras, and chose one of those.
I managed to come out of my first maternity shopping experience with a Bella Band, a pair of silver sandals for the wedding, a white wrap around shirt, black knit skirt, lacy bra, and cute dress for a total of $162.28. Not bad, I thought. It's a lot of money, but that works out to 27 dollars an item, which is pretty good for what I got.
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