The only time in my life I'll say I wish I were fatter

I went from about five to seven comfortable, don't-even-think-about-it, you-know-it-matches-so-just-grab-and-go outfits to wear to work to about three outfits. I'm down to two pairs of pants and three shirts. Yes, I still work five days a week. I get really, really creative around Wednesdays. Matching isn't so much a priority.

And nothing is more annoying than having to stand looking at clothes you wish you could wear if they fit. I have a whole closet full of them -- look at them! Purples, blacks, whites, stripes, sweaters, cute little shirts ... Just standing there. If I had the extra space, I'd box them up and keep my few shirts hanging there to inspire Dave to say "wow, you need clothes." But since we don't have the extra space and because Dave would willingly set his Kirby Puckett collection on fire before he'd notice if I ran out of clothes to wear to work, I won't do that.

The two comfortable maternity pants are great for wearing around the house, but I have to pull them up too often to make it feasible for wearing out of the house. Walk, walk, hike up pants, walk, walk. Not yet. And I don't want to go shopping yet. It's depressing.

I realize that in a few short weeks this won't be an issue, and that in a few months I'll be so uncomfortably shaped like a small bus that I'll wish I could complain about my pre-pregnancy pants fitting at all. I know. But let's not talk rationally to the hormonal lady. Got it?

Let's instead pretend my outfits match. GOT IT? LIE.