By Megan
I popped into Motherhood™ Maternity for what was supposed to be lightening-fast drive-by to pick up some Preggie Pop Drops and a Bella™ Band.
Well.
There really is no such of a thing as a lightening-fast drive-by in Motherhood Maternity. Their definition of clever merchandising is “pack the precious pouchy-fronted fashions in that joint so tight and so maze-like that an 80 lb. female track star with a minor in ballet couldn’t get through the racks quickly or gracefully, much less a clumsy, lumbering pregnant woman carrying an extra 45 pounds and a purse-full of Tums.”
A-yep. That there’s how they get you.
You can’t rush by the racks with eyes averted – you have to actually look at all the cuteness in order not to become hopelessly entangled in the sweet little bow-tie tails on the back of all-things empire-waisted and poofy-sleeved.
And that’s how I ended up in the dressing room trying on two armloads of gargantuan pink dresses, tops, and barrel-wasted capris, and one brown and turquoise (OHMYGRANNY I’M HYERVENTILATING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT AGAIN) two-piece maternity swimsuit, through the leg-holes of which you could easily drive a Vee-Dubbya Bug. NOT KIDDING, PEOPLE.
Actually this was my second couple of armloads full, this batch that included the ill-fated (foreshadowing!) swimsuit, and thus the husband and Bean had run themselves out of things to look at in the WHOLE MALL and had returned to my current location to pester the dickens out of me keep me company while I tubbily and humbly stuffed myself into one adorable-on-the-hanger-but-pathetic-on-my-actual-amorphous,-sausage-like-body springy garment after another, the whole while feeling less and less good about said body, and, coincidentally, imparting another 600 kilowatthours worth of static electricity to my hair with each lamentable clothing change.
How is it that one head of hair can simultaneously laminate itself to your head AND stand up to form a perfect geosphere?
I greeted the family and they found a chair to perch themselves upon while I tried on the remainder of the clothing and modeled the few of them that didn’t make me look like Henrietta Hippo from The New Zoo Review. By the time I’d gotten to the bottom of those two armloads and was attempting to summon the courage it’d take me to stuff myself into the swimsuit, Bean was IN the dressing room with me, asking me the requisite 400 blue-billion questions in a row that began with What’s Dat, Mama? and ended with And can I slide down the frog’s tongue at the poo'(l) when I go dere fer my swimmin’ lessons when it gets hot ousside TOOOOOOOOO? Puh-leeeeeeeeease?
And I answered as I pulled and tugged. Tugged and pulled. Squoze, pinched, puckered and gasped my way into that swimsuit. Took one look at myself and quickly decided I’ll be wearing SHORTS and a SHIRT to the pool this year.
Or perhaps capris. And a refrigerator box.
And that’s when it happened. I began wrestling myself back out of the swimsuit and had gotten a very great majority of it off of me when Bean decided DADDY needed to give his opinion. In slow motion (I see a lot of things in slow motion now that I have a three-year old. Why IS that?) I saw her little Beanie-hand reach out to grasp the flimsy dressing-room curtain and felt the cold breeze upon my vast expanses of pasty white nakedness as she WHISKED that curtain aside, announcing with glee, TAA DAAAAAAAAAAA! WOOK AT DISSSS! Whereupon I did my very best roly-poly impression, hunching over in a motion so quick it was nearly imperceptable, while retracting all four awkward limbs into my thorax and attempting to make everything but my buck-naked back disappear behind my legs.
Of course Al sprung into action, tossing aside some essential manual for accountants he was nerdily studiously poring over and flinging the curtain closed again, all the while both of us are yelling “BEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEEAN! NO, HONEY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
I heard some smart-aleck know-it-all WOMAN say “And THAT’S why I leave MINE at HOME when I go shopping,” just as I was passing out cold from humiliation and perhaps a lack of circulation to my extremities, my cottage-cheese-coated haunches still tangled up in the bottoms of that swimsuit, and my hair framing my bleached-white-face like a shaggy cue-ball.
You know, I bet that lady doesn’t even HAVE a blog.
Megan’s hands are a wee mite full at the moment what with all the child-birthin’ and newborn-caring. This post was orginally published on her blog FriedOkra last March.
This is such a fantastic post! I definitely feel for you here on all fronts – the maternity swimsuit (ugh!), trying to make your way actually into Motherhood Maternity without knocking over racks like a row of dominos, and of course, trying things on with a child in tow. I am so glad you made it out alive!
One of my favorite posts of all time. Hee-sterical.
Hahah! That is hilarious! I feel your pain and sorry it happen to you, but gosh I needed a laugh and that hit the spot! And you know, even if that lady leaves her kids at home when she shops, EVENTUALLY she has to be around them, and they WILL find a way to humiliate her. Just the other day my oldest decided to show us that he had picked up on a dirty word (s**t)by singing it over and over while we walked into church. Our attempts to get him quiet only made him say the word (all sing song-y too)LOUDER. It’s like they KNOW. hahahah! Anyways, all fun stories for when they bring their first dates over….hahahah!
This was a great Monday morning laugh!
I can so relate. I have lost track of the times that Princess has almost opened (and twice that she got it all the way open) the dressing room curtain or bathroom stall door to reveal my nakedness to the world. But I have been lucky enough to not have it happen in a place like Motherhood where the changing room opens up for the entire store to see.
Oh yes. That is some seriously funny stuff. Thanks for the pick-me-up.
That was incredibly funny. And the nerve of that woman!
Tylenol….
Safe to give a dog tylenol. Hepatitis tylenol advil. Tylenol deaths. Tylenol recall. Tylenol….
Taking wellbutrin and marijuana together….
Wellbutrin xl doses. Wellbutrin and seizures. Wellbutrin. Wellbutrin sr….
Tramadol hcl….
Tramadol 93….
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