Last week, Wifey finally bought herself a pair of maternity jeans. After a few weeks of using a rubber band to keep the waistband closed on her old favorites, (as per my sister’s suggestion) she finally took the plunge.
These are totally your mom’s jeans, except that depending on when/where/to whom you were born, your mother’s may have had bigger flares at the bottom.
Now, this was a milestone purchase. To this point, she had been incredibly resistant to the idea of going shopping for maternity clothes – with this implicit “I’m going to wait until I literally can’t even get my pants on before I start buying new ones.” Despite her (previously) slim figure, mine wasn’t really a “skinny jeans” kind of gal to begin with, so this reluctance was a bit surprising. (Some of you are also probably stumped by the need for maternity clothes at all, given that this is still only the beginning of the second trimester. Blame it on that petite-ness again – there’s nowhere for the little bugger to go but out.)
In all fairness, my body will never experience the degree of change that hers is going through; despite my best efforts, I’ll never fully grasp the accompanying psychology. But it did strike me, this contrast between her pride and joy at being pregnant, and her hesitancy to go out and purchase the appropriate clothes. (Strangely enough, it didn’t take her nearly as long for to send me running out for maternity bras…)
In fact, the new pants actually accentuate my wife’s beautiful, changing body, which may really be the key to it all. Once she donned her new threads, any remaining ambiguity went out the window. That there’s a baby in there (my baby!) – I would walk around with my hand on her tummy all day if I could. But I guess she had to get there on her own time.
As far as I’m concerned, bring on the maternity gear – I love it, I can now see that bump coming from a block away. Then again, as she likes to point out, I’m not the one baking a person. So take it all with a grain of salt.