Who Are Those Crazy Ladies?

It’s something I’ve alternately dreaded and anticipating. I avoided it for a long time … took drastic means to skip it … rubber bands, safety pins, a few of J’s items, my “fat” clothes.

But the time came, and I had to bite the bullet at go shopping for maternity clothes. All of the above techniques only enhanced the fact that it appeared that I had overindulged during the holiday festivities, and might have gotten me nominated as a candidate on “What Not to Wear.”

Typically, I love to shop. For anything. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. In the past few years, clothing shopping hasn’t been as fun, as I haven’t been particularly satisfied with my shape. And shopping on a deadline with specific needs simply takes the fun out of impulse shopping.

So I went. Actually, my MIL wanted to take me, and we spent a wonderful afternoon together. We picked out some nice basics, and few fun pieces, and were having a great time together (which is crazy, because we really don’t spend much “alone” time together).

The seemingly innocent saleswoman had been as nice as can be. It was a small boutique, and we were the only people in there, so much chatting and making-nice had been happening. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but we were talking about the different kinds of people who shop in her store.

And then she said something to the effect of “Yea, and then sometimes you get these women who aren’t pregnant, don’t seem to want to buy the clothes, don’t talk at all, and just want to look around. It’s crazy, I don’t get what they’re doing here!”

I get it. It was me. Years of cautious wandering through baby boutiques, occasionally maternity stores, wondering if I’d ever be there shopping for myself. Nothing crazy about it.