Pregnant dress shopping

As I wrote in an earlier post, my best friend is getting married 2 days before my due date, and I am the maid of honor.

"Good luck getting to that wedding."...
"We'll see about that."...
"HA--Good luck."

These are just a few of the many highly optimistic jeers I've received upon telling people about this event. They have not phased me, and I am going into this with no qualms about committing to being there. I just ordered my $250 maternity-style dress, shown below, in petal pink. Lovely!



Brief excerpt from the fitting:
Woman who I instantly disliked: "Let's measure your waist next, although that's just going to disappear anyway, isn't it!!"
Me: Ha. ha. [will you leave now?]

Bride-to-be confirms that the woman said all of the wrong things to absolutely everyone the whole time we were there, and I manage to shake it off.

3 days later--voice mail from (thankfully) a different, very nice lady confirming 9-months pregnant sizing calculations:
"Hi there, this is [nice lady] from [nice dress shop], just wanted you to know that I'm going to place the order for your dress, and I'm going to place it in a size 16, because you know, you're going to have milk in there, and you'll need a little extra room. Just give me a call to let me know that that's okay, Thank youuu."

Me: SIX-TEEN? No. That can't be right. That lady measured over my bra, and I probably won't even wear one for the wedding. No. That's too big. I'm calling her--sixteen? No, not sixteen, that's huge.

[Frank remains silent as I dial, still mumbling.]

Phone call to dress shop:
Nice Lady: Hello, Nice Dress Shop
Me: Hiii, is this Nice Lady?
Nice Lady: Yes, it is--
Me: Hiii, you just left me a message about ordering my dress?
Nice Lady: Oh, yes, glad you called.
Me: Yeah.. I'm just a little worried that sixteen is going to be too big. I mean, I'm only an 8-10 right now, and--I just think it's really big.
NL: 8/10 in real dress sizes?

[Note: Real dress sizes are evil, tending to run anywhere from 2 to 10 sizes smaller than the clothes you wear every day. You would think that dress makers would want to make their clients feel great on the special days they're shopping for, not make them feel like whales...You would think.]

Me: [remembers how real dress sizes work] UGHHH, REAL dress sizes...[unsure of what else to say]
NL: Because if you're an 8/10 in real life, you're probably a 12 in dress size, and your bust measured a size 14, and we want to give you some extra room, because the way we aaare, you're going to, you know, you'll have milk in there.
Me: Ugh, I forgot about real dress sizes. The more we talk about this, the more 16 sounds okay.
NL: Yeaaah. We just want to make sure we can zip it up, because the rest of it can stay big.
Me. [Resigns completely] You're right...keep the 16.
NL: Alright, honey. We'll let you know when it comes in, thanks for calling.
[click]

Me: UUUGH I'm going to wear a SIX-TEEEN.
Frank: It's just a number, you just want it to fit you, right?
Me: Sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

So there it is. I've invested 250 Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers in a dress larger than has ever humanly fit me, with full intent to wear a diaper underneath it. [It's going to be a long day, and I WILL NOT pee myself on the dance floor.]

Despite what will be the odd circumstances, and what seems like quite a gamble, I really, honestly have a good feeling about it. So just get on my team, and get excited about my giant dress, K? Good talk.

The Baseball Spa

Yesterday was a full day of running around--3 tutoring students, and what didn't seem like that many errands...until I was done with them.

The day in order:
Miss shower
Prep for reading lesson
Student 1- 10am-11:30am
Assemble pregnancy snacks
(drive for half hour)
Student 2- 12:15-1:15
Catch up on student reporting
Research surprise for someone online
Call someone to talk about it
Call someone else to talk about it
Eat apple
Post office drop
Drug store for candy treats for turtle feeders
Walmart to waste my time because they didn't have what I wanted
BACK to office to furiously order surprise after final confirmation from someone
Harried drive to student 3's school, only to find that she has been picked up from school. Just as well.
2 minutes later--It's student 3's mom--she is so sorry! Grandma didn't know about lessons. Sigh.
Student 3- 3:45-5pm
Wendy's for junior cheeseburger deluxe and water and bloating
Bank for deposit
Yell at car I know is beeping at me because they want my front row spot at the bank
Back out of spot and mouth "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?"
Realize that car is just notifying karate student next door of its arrival.
Call customer service line to change certain details of surprise after tip from someone
Mall for secondary treat for aforementioned surprisee
Pee at Macy's
Walk in two full circles around escalators before re-arriving at "down" escalator
Call Pei Wei for carryout--pickup time will be 6:40.
Waste time at a totally different Walmart because they don't have a totally different item I want.
Pei Wei pickup--no fuss, no muss.
Trader Joe's for simple item that Walmart didn't have, plus fresh flowers.
(drive for half hour)
Other post office drop
Smash and shear thumbnail on steering wheel reaching for keys in ignition. Still sitting in driver's seat.
Deliver treats for turtle helper neighbors. Yay, skittles!
Home at 8--put away uneaten snacks.
Divide Pei Wei and garnish with mini container of extra peppers and carrots
Husband is home, looking dapper.
Anticipation for Pei Wei builds as blood sugar makes final pre-dinner drop--everything is READY.
Spill every drop of giant glass of water while adjusting flower vase.
Grumble about wet socks
Get large towel from upstairs
Marvel at pattern and span of water strewn across dining room floor.
Shake head and scoot towel with feet, burning final existing molecules of glucose.
Sit opposite of spill site and allow husband to pray before impending explosion.
No explosion--eating instead.
Husband draws bath upon request
Enter husband's impromptu-named "Baseball Spa"

Here the list stops, because here starts a completely new, delightful portion of my day.

Frank has the laptop set up on the sink with live streaming of the Orioles/Yankees game. I start relaxing right away, soaking, scrubbing and shaving away layers of pregnancy-induced dry skin and a skin-darkening coat of leg hair. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW, DON'T READ IT.

He helps me scrub my back, and the game is tied when I hop out of the tub.

Next was the mud mask. I was very proud of this purchase--Rite Aid had all sorts of fun beauty treatment stuff for like 75% off, and I had indulged in about $20 worth of reduced-price goodies. I got some nice, oceany-smelling body butter, another great organic lotion that smells like magic, my sugar scrub, and then the crowning glory--a 14oz, clasp-sealed jar of detoxifying face and body mud, originally over $20, which I had yet to try.

Frank had me lay on the (spa)bed in the next room with a towel under my head, and used his extra barber brush to apply the cold gook on my face, carefully avoiding my eyes and lips as per the instructions. There was a coldness, but also a slight burning sensation through the 15-minute process, which I figure was just a foreseeable part of the procurement of firmer, fresher skin. I brushed it off, focusing on the ninth inning of the baseball game, but also expected some redness after rinsing the mud away.

What I didn't expect, was greenness.

"Um...my face is stained green."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I mean I look like a zombie."
[enters the bathroom]"Hmm...did you use the sponge to wipe it off?"
"YAH, I used the sponge."
"...I'm sorry, babe."

Frank is feeling it bit bad between making jokes about photosynthesis, but I'm not particularly mad. I'm mostly worried about health implications of having stained skin, especially while carrying a child. Perhaps discount spa treatments aren't the best way to go...although my skin is firmer and very soft at the moment. Besides, I'm still having fun being pampered, and there's still a foot treatment I've been hoarding with soft little conditioning socks to come.

So here's an approximation of before and after:

Before

After

I may be exaggerating slightly on the shade, but it does make it look like I have a dirty hobo beard. Meaning that it still looks like this today.

I put on a yellow sweatshirt recently passed to me by my sister this morning, which Frank seemed to think looked really great on me. He even suggested that I wear yellow more often, which I know, from 25 years of experience, is not the best advice for moi. I don't [normally] have a yellow complexion.

"Maybe it's because my face is green"

"...maybe it is. But it still looks nice."

And I have to smile, because even though he keeps calling me "Triceratops" and "Plant lady", I know that even if I had on something red that made me look like I was about to vomit, he'd probably find a way to call me pretty.

Thanks for "The Baseball Spa", Honey.