I'm not comfortable with the word "belly" sometimes

On this, the second anniversary of this blog, I bought maternity pants. Two years ago, I was broke, living in a shoddily constructed apartment, searching for a wedding dress. Now, maternity pants. Ah, life. This is it.

My first pair ... I purchased them from the privacy of my dining room table, looking online because I was too embarrassed? (Uncomfortable? Anxious? Afraid of having strangers look at my stomach and saying "she thinks THAT'S a bump? She ain't seen NOTHING yet") to get them in the store like a rational person.

Without mom or a friend there, you just look like a crazy lady in a winter coat, in my opinion, if you're not showing-showing. I'm not showing-showing. I'm just uncomfortable with the status of wearing pants that need to be held up by elastic hair ties. Give me Spandex waists for God's sake.

I don't mind gaining weight now; it means everything's progressing normally, and it's kind of cute if I may say so myself.

What do I mind? Not being able to wear anything I want when I'm exhausted at 7 a.m. on a lousy, rotten Tuesday. Of the seven pairs of "work OK" pants I have, two fit now. Of the four jeans I have, one can be zipped all the way -- my "fat pants," the ones I kept from the year I was losing those 30-some pounds between high school and college. And they're so comfortable, my God.

And buying clothes, as anyone knows, is not what one might call "cheap," or "remotely fun to spend money on," especially when you're not really sure what the difference is in comfort between a belly panel, a low-rise panel and a roll panel. (Panel? I'm buying clothes with panels? I need Mom. Mom! My clothes have panels; help me!)

And no, I'm not wearing them yet. Gosh.

Written Nov. 18