This morning I was feeling particularly large around the middle. I was lamenting in my closet over the fact that NOTHING FITS ME ANY MORE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. I have nothing to wear. NOTHING TO WEAR I TELL YOU. And do you know what happens to a woman when A) she feels like a hippo, and B) nothing in her closet fits right? Do you know?
I'll tell you what happens. She cries. And maybe she pouts a little. She might even throw in a whine or two. But whatever you do, do NOT tell a pregnant woman that she is exaggerating!!!
Pregnancy only enhances a woman's sense of reality. When we make statements like "I have absolutely nothing to wear at all." This is simply a statement of fact. And is, under no circumstances, to be argued with. Oh people, if you want to light the fuse to a nuclear bomb, go ahead and do that. But otherwise, steer clear of any negativity whatsoever. But then again, I think all that goes without saying. Right ladies?
Anyway, back to my story. Did you even know I went off subject?
So I'm standing in my closet pouting and talking to the shirts that used to fit me 2 weeks ago. And I'm all "Look away! I'm hideous! I cannot leave the house today! I'll just call in fat." At this point I've at least managed to locate and put on a black cami and pair of jeans to cover my GIGANTIC abdomen. (I know what you're thinking... just wait 2 more months and then you'll see what gigantic really looks like. But don't even go there unless you want to get hit upside the head with my shoe.) And from the bedroom I hear "You look perfect honey".
Wait. Was that Manny? I double-checked. Then I approach him wearing a sweater which seriously did fit me last Friday, but is currently quite a stretch around my middle. He smiles at me and says "You look beautiful. The sweater fits you fine."
"But what about my big belly? And the fact that the horizontal stripes make me look even bigger? And... and... "
Just then Elijah overhears my whimpering and pipes up. "What's wrong with Mommy? What's Mommy talking about, Daddy?"
Then the sweetest thing... Manny whispered something to him, causing him to scamper over to me, wrap this sweet little arms around my neck and say "Mommy, you look really pretty."
And that was that. Spirits lifted. Case closed.
The moral of the story is: husbands and sons have the power to cheer a lady right on up out of her funk. Sometimes.
p.s. I ended up putting on a black t-shirt before leaving the house. Something about black being slimming or something.