Let me preface this post by saying that I love the two ladies who did wear sequins and I think it is fabulous of them to do so.
When you are 41 and pregnant, plus you are chasing a toddler around the house who only recently figured out how fun it is to walk, it's just plain hell. The first few months were a blur. I was so tired/sick/sick/tired that I was in survival mode and yesterday's clothes all the time. My best moments were in the morning so I made sure to be all the mom I could be early in the day, mostly so Clem wouldn't hate me for being curled up in a ball or gagging over a toilet from about 2pm on.
Oh, and also, thank you to the makers of Yo Gabba Gabba for getting us through. It may not be the best thing for a kid to watch that much TV, but she learned cool songs and dance moves and I could lay on the couch and die a quiet, pathetic death while learning the importance of baby steps vs big steps.
Just a few days before Christmas we did a gender ultrasound and found out we are having another girl. Yahooo. Don't get me wrong...I love boys. I married one. I think they are cool and cute and essential to the human race. But having one baby girl makes it feel like all the babies in the whole world should be girls. Does that make sense? It does to me. Nate said he wanted a boy but the first word out of his mouth when we learned her gender was, "yay". It's nice to know those coats and shoes that were worn six times will get used another six before they go into full retirement.
We'll probably call her Beatrice.
So by New Year's Eve I was 17 weeks and feeling a little better. Mostly not queasy and able to manage any remaining quease with the magic of ReliefBand. Get one. Trust me.
We were getting together with a few friends for dinner and party afterward and I seriously wasn't looking forward to any of it for one main reason. I'm big. Like EVERYWHERE big. Not just the cute barely there baby bump kind of big that you may expect at 17 weeks. Also, having a fibroid the size of a softball in my uterus has made it really uncomfortable to wear clothes. So while I know I have the option to go get a few cute maternity pieces, I'm less inclined to do so because I probably won't wear them much. All I do wear, all that is really comfortable, is some version of the yoga pant, a tunic or tee, and Ugg boots (that Nate got me for Christmas and that I love. Thanks honey). Pressure of any kind on my stomach is basically out of the question painful.
So back to New Year's Eve. I just didn't have the energy to try and look good (good being relative). My two girlfriends going to dinner, who I love (remember?), are gorgeous. And one is even pregnant and just a month behind me. But she is still a size 2. And the other is just thin to begin with and they are both super pretty and they dress great and have amazing style and I just knew they were gonna look "new year's eve" fabulous next to my "you're lucky I even came" style.
About 30 minutes before we needed to leave for dinner I moped into the bathroom to try and make the best of a seriously depressing situation. I put on eyeliner (I rarely do this) and eye shadow (I NEVER do this) and I combed my hair. I stood there looking at my almost familiar face in the mirror, a little heavier, looking older and more tired, and I thought, "eff it". I just couldn't do any more than that. All the blogs and Pinterest posts and Instagram photos were sifting through my head and I had all these expectations about how I was suppose to look. But "eff it".
That "eff it" moment was big for me.Because I normally would have tried on everything in my closet. Looking blindly for the one combination that would make me look like I used to look. Like I still had style and self respect. But there, standing in front of the mirror wearing a striped tee, yoga pants, and my Uggs, I made a decision. "Let them wear sequins", I said. This is me right now. This is who I am. I know I have style hidden under these layers of motherhood and pregnancy pounds. And that style can come out and play later when it's time. But right now I'm not going to even entertain the idea of anything other than what I am. I turned off the light and walked out wearing just what I had on before. No stylishly mismatched layers or belts or heals. No skinny jeans or tailored jackets. Just me and my knits.
So there I was in a swanky, dimly lit sushi restaurant. I was the only one with a toddler on my hip (babysitters on new year's eve...yeah, right), I was the only one essentially wearing pajamas, I was the only one who probably also felt insanely comfortable and warm and finally, FINALLY, okay with it.
Don't get me wrong, I really do still wish I was a size 2 pregnant girl with shiny hair and glowing skin. I promise I'd be so very cute. But I'm not so I'm choosing to be okay and even grateful for what I actually am which is a healthy body engaged in a bit of a miracle. Also, I have the biggest boobs known to man. So there's that.
p.s. how cute is Clementine in this picture?