This week, I hosted two going away parties. First to be sent off was our ungainly armoire that has been hogging space in our living room for way too long. Craigslist finally paid off (after months of Jeff relisting it and lowering the price) and someone came to haul it away last night! The room literally feels twice the size it did before. And twice as dusty because dude, there were some bunny-sized dust piles under there.
My second party was less of a celebration and more of a funeral - for my pre-pregnancy clothes. I folded and moved to the guest bedroom all my dark wash jeans with zippers and buttons, and kissed goodbye an entire stack of size extra small shirts and sweaters. Oh Extra Small, how I will miss you. Who knew I loved you so much? I suppose pregnancy and parenthood are a lesson in humility and I graduated to level 102 last night. I know it’s shallow, but when I went to Target this weekend to look for some bigger shirts I felt sad as I passed the hangers bearing the XS brand, bravely skipped my fingers over the ones labeled S and dove right into the M’s. I think after being teased for being short most of my life, I decided at some point to turn it around and instead of referring to myself as “short” I decided I was “small” or “little”. This made me feel better. Sort of like how Americans felt when the government started referring to “global warming” as “climate change”. This change improved my self esteem a great deal but the unintended consequence is that I think I started placing too high a value on my shirt size. In conclusion, I bade farewell this week to “small” and “little” and welcomed back my old friend “short”. Because whatever. I ate an entire box of Samoa Girl Scout Cookies on Monday and had like 3 dinners last night AND I ENJOYED IT. If this is the price I pay for being pregnant, then bring it. These days the only “little” thing around here is going to be baby Bart. Have I mentioned that Jeff is referring to the baby as Bart? He does this for three reasons:
1. He is 100% sure we are having a boy.
2. Bart is a terrible name and it eggs me on when he refers to it as such.
3. It’s kind of funny.