None of my clothes fit. I feel like I am living in someone else’s body. I am uncomfortable. This seems like a silly thing to complain about, all things considered, but there it is. Just because we don’t have a living baby to show for it, doesn’t change the biology of being pregnant for six months and birthing a child. My belly is larger than before. That may come off, but I can’t exercise in earnest for another three weeks. My bra size went from a 34A before getting pregnant to a 36D now. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror, and even my clothes that still fit, fit so differently now.
We’re going to see Les Miserables on Wednesday night. I’ve loved Les Mis since I was way too young to like Les Mis, 6 or 7 years old and singing along. My mom took me to see it in New York City for my 10th birthday – I still have the T-shirt. Actually, since they didn’t have children’s sizes, the T-shirt still fit me up until I got pregnant. Now, boobs. Oh well. After anticipating this tour coming through Atlanta for months, I almost didn’t buy tickets when they finally went on sale, because I’d be 27 weeks pregnant and tired and uncomfortable and for all I knew on bedrest. But in the end, I bought them. Paid extra for the really good seats. Bought a fancy evening maternity dress. This was going to be our last big date night out before 2 became 3.
Then, in the hospital, when I still thought things were going to be okay, I was sad that we’d miss Les Mis. And of course, I feel a bit like an ass now for being sad about something so silly, considering. But I didn’t know. And now that I am not going to be pregnant on April 25th, I’m glad I don’t have to sit at home thinking about how I didn’t buy tickets because I thought I’d be too pregnant to enjoy it. But it’s still a bit tinged with sadness, this crazy pregnant night out I planned.
So obviously I don’t want to wear the fancy maternity dress I bought, even though I bought this dress partly because I knew I could wear it even after I wasn’t pregnant anymore especially if my bra size stayed the same. All my other dresses are for A cups. Maybe B. They don’t fit. And I don’t want to go shopping for a nice dress, in my uncomfortable, harsh reminder of a postpartum body. The one that says, you had a baby, and all you got were new bras.
I’ve got 48 hours to figure something out.