Dressing Rooms

Dear clothing designers, retailers, and all those whom (who?) are interested,

I'm a big girl. And yes that mean's I can wear pull ups and cry at my party if I want to, but I also mean I'm a BIG girl. I don't think small children have ever cried at the sight of me and to my knowledge no one on the street has ever stopped, pointed, and yelled "DAMN", but I can sometimes be a plus size shopper. Compound that with being 5'10 and oddly portioned (no butt, rather busty) and it's usually a long day of shopping when I'm in need of new clothes, it's not impossible and I don't usually start crying and cramming my face with Ben and Jerry's (What up chunky monkey!) but I do avoid certain stores.

One store (or type of store) I thought I wouldn't have to worry about not finding anything in was a maternity store (I have been known, on occasion, to "unknowingly" buy a maternity shirt (or two). They are very flattering for my body type). IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE DESIGNED FOR WOMEN WITH BIG BELLIES AND BIG BOOBS!! That's what's supposed to happen when you "become with child". BUT NO. Same problem as in normal stores, if it fits one place it doesn't fit another and if you are already fat, that means you have even bigger boobs which means you want to wear tops slit in half to show the world because surely a big woman doesn't want people looking anywhere else (LIKE MY FACE) they might notice she's fat.

Surprise designers! People with eyes know what I look like (or people that read my blog have hazy details that can inspire an idea). So stop putting me in mu-mu's with inappropriate chest-ail cutouts. Not only skinny people get knocked up, I promise you, I'm living proof (as is my in-utero son) that you don't have to be hungry for someone to find you attractive. So please make something that will cover me without suffocating me.  Thank you.

A message from the cat

dafkj;iu" "ZX<v nvZWIRp;UP UP23487953QHKIJ NVHN;NZZVJNHZ/ ZGJ/BGJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJRKDS;KLJSFLKZDSJFDEAJ;EGFATRO948RJFR,M.C , .BVBGSX.PERWOERWINJDFGLMAFKFGKPSEWDKLDFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

For those you that don't speak cat, I will translate below.


Hey, you're not looking at me. If you're not looking at me you can't possibly be worshiping me enough, do you know who I am? Look at me look at me look at me look at me NO DON'T TOUCH ME, just look at me! Fine, you're not gonna look at me then I'm gonna sit on the clicky things. If you have time to go the bathroom 40 times a day then you have time to pay attention to me 80 times. 


 Listen, I'm normally a very laid back kinda cat, I will cuddle for just the right amount of time, I let you stroke and marvel at my silky fur when appropriate, and I never overstay my welcome on your lap. 


But lately, you've been lacking. You have been spending a lot of time on your computer making clicky noises. Everyone is rubbing your belly and not mine. What the hell? You don't even have any fur! 


So, in conclusion more time for me, less time for the clicky noises that interrupt my naps on the computer, and people stop touching your belly because it's weird and giving me nightmares. 


PS- there's a dead chipmunk hidden somewhere in this apartment. I'm saving him for later, don't throw him out. 


O man, he totally killed Simon, I hope it was Simon hidden behind the bikes. He's (Simon) a know it all that sometimes makes me want to punch him (I hate it when someone has cooler glasses than me). It would be sad if it was Theodore (we share an over eating disorder and that creates all kinds of emotional bonds (which lead to more emotional eating)). I'm luke-warm about Alvin, I think he just wasn't loved enough as a child (I googled if there was a special name for baby chipmunks( like a baby dear is a fawn, a baby chicken is a pullet) but no luck). So yeah, I guess the best option was Simon. Although, the chipmunk really looked like the one from "Enchanted" so maybe I'm referencing the wrong children's movie. 

Update

Still pregnant, still fat, still unemployed and still unable to write anything interesting.

In other news (but not really) that statement makes me seem really really emo. All I'm missing is the odd haircut and dark clothing (Just so you know, I'm currently in a pretty white on white striped shirt and khaki preggo capris. I look almost wasp like....almost) and pseudo intellectual stance on something completely inane and pointless to snare at lesser people about (although I do have this very strong and snooty belief system for certain brands of chocolate milk).

I do have those short(ish) angled bangs but that's more because I only get my hair cut 3 times a year and the woman that cuts my hair knows this and so tries to cut it short enough that I won't look ridiculous by the time I get around to seeing her again but in doing that makes me look ridiculous for a month after getting it fixed.

And that long run on thought process about my appearance makes me sound super vain.

And the constant commentary on myself makes me sound really concieted,

I'm gonna go sponsor a kid in Africa, clean a stream, and walk a shelter dog at the park (I probably won't do that today, but I'll totally try to us less paper towels and recycle something).

O!  I missed judgmental! The stereotyping of the emo makes me totally judgmental (I am not a valley girl or whatever, my vocabulary just seems stunted today so I keep saying totatlly a lot....see judgmental again). 

10 and 1 things a pregnant person should not do at the beach

(I say person, because we don't know how close evolution or medical science is to making men able to gestate, hopefully soon because you MEN should have to take a crack at it and see how fun it is)

1. Kayak two hours down a canal to the ocean then turn around and kayak six hours back because you're going against the tide now under a full moon (FUN FACT: Full moons mean that the moon is closer to the earth and it's gravitational force is much MUCH MUCH FREAKING stronger so it's effects on the ocean's movement are much MUCH MUCH FREAKING stronger (as in tides will make you paddle for 30 minutes at top speed, making you think you've gone like, 1/2 a mile, when really you've been paddling in front of the same pink house and have drifted backwards a little ))
2. Be attacked by sand fleas
3. Think that chocolate teddy grahams are appropriate beach snacks and leave them unattended near boyfriend. 
4. Be attacked by seagulls because your boyfriend found out that those spastic beady eye birds freak you the freak out and you will scream in a high-pitch girly cartoon voice every time one dives anywhere near your head, so he starts throwing chocolate teddy grahams near your feet.
5. Throw Teddy Grahams in the ocean to get rid of them, the tide will wash them back in.
6. Complain about how bad you look in a bathing suit, the only answer you get is an exasperated "YOU'RE PREGNANT", doesn't matter that the damage you're complaining about was done via cakes pre-baby. 
7. Go anywhere without a bathroom, even if it's the car, you will give the driver of said car a heart attack when you start yelling with out warning that you need a bathroom RIGHT NOW. I don't care if it's just a bunch of sand and trees and there's no where to pull over, MAKE A BATHROOM APPEAR.
8. Keep bringing up the kayaking trip and how you can't move your arms, then move your arms to hold your stomach because you remembered the time your boyfriend fell out of his kayak and it took half an hour to get him back in and you're laughing so hard your stomach hurts. 
9. Come back from the beach and wright lists that are mostly run-on sentences and think that since it's a list it's okay to ramble because list are informal and not each one has to really be a gem or have a point in general other than to get you to a round number.
10. Forget to rotate every once in a while, while out in the sun, you'll get sunburn/pale tan on only one side of your body and look like a comic book villain when combined with your oddly morphed body and thus scare small children.
11. Have the balls to complain about any kind of vacation, especially a beach vacation that for 98% of it was awesome and a lot of fun. Then lock your keys in your car on your way back when your 15 minutes away from home.  

"It's Natural" is a crock of crap

Some people shouldn't watch delivery videos. For those of us that are visual learners, you would think this would be the best way to prepare, but it's not. For all my whining about how horrible horror movies are and the toll they take on my psyche, one would think I would know better. But I don't.

Most of the advice given to a pregnant woman who's  worried she's doing something wrong (and this may just be so she(me) doesn't make 500 million mundane calls to the doctor's office everyday) is to trust your body. Well, my body won't let me bend and rotate so it can see itself being torn in half.

I don't think we're supposed to see what's happening between our legs during the big push, if we were we would have been built without a spine or with mirrors on our feet. There's to much gore and violence for our already weary, aching bodies. The nine month payoff is not the witnessing of all that horror, that's why you need someone else to watch your baby come out. Seriously doctors study for YEARS to be able to sleep after witnessing all of that.

If anyone else is expecting and reading this, sorry if I freaked you out, but that was the worst thing I've ever seen, I don't know why I think I can watch stuff like that.

And DON'T TELL ME it's beautiful and natural and we we're "made to handle it" because that's the dumbest argument I've ever heard. We can handle and recover from broken bones, collapsed lungs and all kinds of diseases. Oil spills (and you know oil alone)  are natural (maybe not when certain gas companies are negligent, but sometimes it bubbles up on it's own). Arsenic  is natural. Lions and tigers and bears (OH MY!) are built to rip us to shreds, but I don't go out and chase them.  Natural is a crock of crap.

HAHAHAHAHA, this little boy and his father are trying to go somewhere. The little boy want's to ride in the car but the father want's to walk. A Loony Tunes reveres psychology moment ensues. 

Why don't you kick Tiny Tim while you're at it

When I discuss my pregnancy with mothers (anyone's mother not just mine) they usually tell me how much they LOVED being pregnant. That it was the best time of their lives, they had all this energy and were happy all the time. I don't know if there is some kind of hormone that's released right after delivery that brain washes women or if they really did have a dream pregnancy, but either way I hate them.

It's just mean that after I've just told someone I spend 80% of my day with head in a toilet and the other 20% trying to get back to a toilet, that they never got sick during their pregnancy. WHY? Why would you say that? WHAT ON EARTH, makes you think that's okay to tell me? Why don't you walk up to Tiny Tim, kick his crutch out from underneath him (for me the fact that everyone goes through it, it's normal) and start telling him how running is "the most awesome thing ever". Why not walk up to Helen Keller, flick her in the nose, then tell her (sign her) how "nothing compares to a rainbow and she doesn't know what she's missing, that you can't die happy without seeing a rainbow".  You could even find a one armed man and challenge him to a patty cake competition, tell him to do the hokey pokey "Put both arms in and shake them all about  (I mean, it is what it's all about)".

Conversely, please don't regal me with horror stories of bad deliveries, yours, your friend's, or one you read about in the paper. I'm scared enough as it is, I don't need nightmares of 15 pound babies trying to climb out  through my nose after 3 days of labor with no epidural. I need to save my strength to do the hokey pokey, be flicked in the nose, and have my crutches kicked out from underneath me. 

When I grow up (out)

There are several things I would like to do when I am obviously and heavily pregnant. They are

• Pretend it's a food baby  (I was so hungry)

• Act oblivious and then offended when people ask how far along I am

• Tell people I'm  52 weeks when asked (elephants won't have nuthin on me!)

• Lose my emotional cool on someone and then act like it didn't happen 

• Get stuck in an elevator and pretend to go into labor (I will have many many elevator rides)

Please note

Please note that I am for hire and will work for diapers.

Baby diapers, not adult diapers. I am potty trained. I may have left that off my resume, but it's important to make clear. Special skills- can pee pee in the potty.

Fruit Salad- yummy yummy

Not only is "fruit salad" a TERRIBLE HORRIBLE UNFORGIVABLE children's song (some of my younger cousins were IN LOVE with it, I can't eat it now) it's also what's been growing in my uterus.

I signed up to a website "BabyCenter" which gives you the progress your baby is making each week, like one week it grew hair and another week it grew a liver(I don't think it was in that order). It also gives you the approximate weight and length of your baby. However, and I find this odd, it gives you things to compare the size of your baby to, which is not the weird part, this is: it's always a fruit.

Like one week my baby was the size of a raisin, one week a blueberry or grape, this week it's a lime wedge. It even does it to my uterus. It went from being the size of a pear to the size of a grape fruit (at 11 weeks the baby was the size of a fig, next month it's an apple). If the baby would grow to the size of a yogurt container, I really could make a decent fruit salad.

It's not just this site that refers to baby's size by the "Kertzwig Fruit Scale" (the name I made up for it, I think "Kertzwig" sounds like a doctor's name that would spend time making a baby height fruit scale) it's every single baby book I've read and every single site I've visited, everyone is obsessed (I kept trying to type "obsessed" and it kept getting auto-corrected to "obese" I GET IT, computer)  with fruity babies. Why are vegetables being left out huh? Or Hostess cake snacks? What's your angle National Fruit Growers Association?

Is it less offensive than having a home office in your belly? "Your baby this week is the size of a paper clip/stapler/coffee mug with cutesy inscription".  Or how about art supplies? "Your baby this week is the size of a gum eraser/oil paint/bottle of turpentine". OH! How about house hold cleaning supplies? "Your baby this week is the size of a sponge/small liquid soap bottle/scrub brush".


Fruit salad (inspired by my little uterus usurper)
Feeds: up to 6 belly rubbers
Time: Should distract them long enough to make your escape or booby trap belly.

Mix together in Large bowl:

1/4 cup of raisins,
1/4 cup of blue berries 
1/2 cup sliced grapes (what ever color, ultra sounds are in black and white. So it doesn't matter)
2 sliced, skinned and cored pears, chopped
1 grape fruit peeled and segmented
1 handful of chopped and seeded figs
1 apple peeled cored and chopped
Sprinkle all ingredients with 1/2 a lime to reduce browning of fruits
Add yogurt to taste

Serve and run away.