Nylons No More

Pregnancy has thrown me for a few loops in the last six and a half months. Sleepless nights, confusion/forgetting simple things, and lately, a few embarrassing incidents.

 

The scale has  been mercifully very slow to creep upward, so I have enjoyed being able to wear my normal clothing for much longer than expected. I have purchased a few maternity pieces, but they have been very roomy on me so far. In the wardrobe department, this pregnancy has pretty well been business as usual.

 

So imagine my surprise when yesterday, I noticed that the waist of my nylons was starting to roll throughout the day. I realize that, at 14 weeks from giving birth, my body is going to start to change, so I tried not to panic. I discreetly unrolled them and tugged them back into place around my growing frame, and made a mental note to retire this particular pair from the rotation until it no longer looks like I have a basketball under my dress.

 

I had all but forgotten about the inconvenience of rolling nylons, when I was cruelly reminded of their impending strike against holding themselves up around the increasing circumference of my body. Because life isn't fair, this final notice of resignation from the panty hose that I employ came at the very worst possible time and place - in the produce aisle of the grocery store, with a cart full of groceries.

 

There I was, almost done with my shopping trip and checking over the strawberries I was about to add to my cart when I felt the slow tug of nylon folding over onto itself. Since this had already been the theme of my day, I glanced around the fruit section to see how many witnesses I would have to navigate, grabbed the side of the waistband through my dress, and shimmied them back into place. As I took my next step toward the checkout line, it happened. The slow, agonizing moment where you realize that you are about to be in a full blown public situation, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

 

Unlike the previous rolls earlier in the day, this wasn't just a slightly uncomfortable bending of a waistband onto itself. This, my friends, was a bona fide avalanche of nylon. One, two, three, four rolls went flying over each other faster than I could count. Then five. Then six. Until, in nothing longer than half a minute, I had panty hose rolled halfway down my legs. Like sticking-out-from-under-my-dress halfway down my legs. In the PRODUCE aisle.

 

Because I am the most unfortunate individual on the face of the earth in terms of these situations, I was wearing one of the pairs where the legs are connected all in one piece of fabric. So in case you aren't fully getting the visualization, let me paint you a little picture: six and a half months pregnant, rolled nylons halfway down my legs, in a crowded grocery store, 100 feet from the nearest restroom, and no way to gracefully pull them on or off, because they are attached to one another.

 

After waddling (literally) across the vegetable section with my legs stepping as closely together as I could get them, I did finally make it to the sanctuary of a restroom where I could peel them the rest of the way off and stuff them into the bottom of my purse for the remainder of my errands. The epitome of class.

 

Pregnancy Brain is REAL

In the interest of full disclosure, I did quite a few dumb things before I was pregnant, so I can't blame all of my airheaded moves on our fetus. There have been a few instances lately, however, that I am certain were caused by the budding human we made.

 

Since our baby is a jerk who still makes me very sick 23.5 weeks into this ride, I see a lot of doctors. I was recently asked when my next appointment is, and I gave two different days because I honestly cannot remember who I see each week, when, or even at which location. I collect those little appointment reminder cards like Ryan collects guitar picks - we find them everywhere! A couple of weeks ago, I had an appointment with a specialist first thing in the morning, at his office across the river. So I dragged myself out of bed at an ungodly hour in order to be showered, dressed, and to his office by 7am. After weaving through the maze of an unfamiliar hospital, I finally found his office, and learned that I was there a day early. And I did what any sick, tired, pregnant lady would; I cried. I stood in front of the reception window bawling and apologizing, then apologizing for bawling, and tearfully asked if I had to come back that early the next day. Luckily for me, the nicest doctor in the entire world came out of his office, greeted me with a huge smile, and said it was no problem and he would be happy to see me right then. Obviously, he is a kind man who took pity on the pathetic grown woman who was sobbing at the front desk because she can't read a calendar.

 

A few days later, I was making a late night grocery store run for a healthy pregnancy snack of m&m's and cheddar & sour cream baked Lay's. I took the dog out, got her kenneled, collected my purse, keys, what I thought was my phone, and headed out the door. By the time I got to the store, I realized that Ryan would be home any minute, and I hadn't told him that I was leaving, so he would be expecting me to be there. Not wanting him to panic, I pulled out my phone to text him. For what had to be a full minute, I stood in the middle of the aisle staring in bewilderment at the device I had just retrieved from my purse. It was one of those moments like when you first wake up from a really deep slumber and find yourself asking seemingly easy questions, that for several seconds you simply cannot will your brain to be able to answer - things like what day is it? Is it AM or PM? Why do I only have one sock on? - until you are shaken back into reality and the explanations start to flood in. I did know what day and time it was, but the questions I found myself rapidly asking right there in aisle 11 were; Where is my phone? Why did I bring the tv remote to the grocery store? How am I going to text Ryan and tell him I left my phone at home? Luckily, the two items I was in search of are located very close to one another, and I managed to get myself home right before he pulled in, sparing myself from having to recount the whole embarrassing ordeal.

 

The figurative nail in this 'pregnancy brain' coffin happened just a couple of days ago. Sunday mornings are very busy at our house, and I have found that most weeks, it is my worst sickness day. Which generally leaves me with a growling stomach so loud that I know it can be heard from the pulpit, with 15 minutes left in the sermon. This past Sunday was no different, and the moment we were dismissed, I ran to Ryan and begged him to quickly pick a place for lunch. Another couple was joining us and we all decided Applebee's sounded good.

 

Ryan kept saying 'It's close, so it will be quick' and I kept thinking to myself 'It's at least 5 miles away, and the only good way there from here is on a congested road with 10 traffic lights between here and there', but I know that during this pregnancy I have had a tendency to be hangry, so I told myself that I was just being a diva. I offered to leave and go get us a table and meet them whenever they could get there. 15 minutes had passed and I still wasn't to the restaurant, because the other drivers of the world are idiots and wouldn't drive faster than 25mph. At literally my 10th red light of the morning, I grabbed my phone (my actual phone and not the tv remote - thank Heaven for the little miracles) and texted to Ryan: 'Still not there. Traffic is terrible. Just now turning onto the right road.' Seconds later, he was calling me to tell me that he meant the other Applebee's, and that everyone else was already seated and waiting for me, and they would order appetizers. He didn't say this, but it occurred to me that by 'other Applebee's', he meant the one right down the street from church; the one that you can seriously walk to faster than the one I drove to - which makes much more sense now that I think about it.

I am hoping that my brain, and my waistline, will be quick to return sometime around the first of the year. If you see me walking around in a fog before then, offer me some m&m's, a map of the city I live in, and a spare phone to tell my husband what random location you have found me wandering around.