Wardrobe Issues…Really?

Since the start of this whole thing, wardrobe has been an issue.  All the meds did an awesome job and bolstering my numbers on the scale, so the clothes were a little tight from the start.  To add to that level of awesomeness, throw in food aversions, and my ability to pretty much eat nothing but carbs for the first three months…things have been getting a little cra cra around the waist line way before I could use the small child as an excuse.  I was telling my doc about how I conveniently found work pants with hidden elastics and, aside from my baggy jeans, had to transition all my pants over to my “fat pants.”  Her response to this was her putting her hands up like a conductor before the orchestra belts the first note, “Let’s say it together now….Preg-nant!  Pregant. Yes, it is a thing.”  Whateves, doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I have been adapting to my added baggage by wearing my pants a little lower and buying baggier shirts.  For a good chunk of time, I was able to get away with just looking fat, but I knew it was coming.  Living in the middle of nowhere, I took the opportunity to do some pre-lim recognizance missions to the big maternity stores to try and get a feel for what size I would be if I needed to get stuff online.  I don’t know if you have noticed, but the sizing between guys clothes and girls clothes are completely different.  Since I tend to break brains with my wardrobe, and ironically look more like a cross-dresser in women’s clothing than in men’s, it just wasn’t me.  Like, in theory I could do long hair, but it looks horrible, so I don’t.  Same thing for clothes, so I had no clue what I would be in women’s sizes.  Considering the tiny sizing and skin tight design that is generally associated with women’s clothing, I figured it would be something on the larger scale.

Discussing the complete dread the situation with a bud of mine, she convinced me to just hop in the car and go to the store.  Now, I would not agree to this with just anyone, but I we had been buds for 22 years so if I was going to be vulnerable and feel stupid in front of anyone, she was definitely on the short list.

We walked into the store, and I’m pretty certain the staff was hoping that she was the customer instead of the rando walking behind her in my baggy cargo shorts, guys tee and hat backwards.  We found very quickly that this was going to be an uphill battle as the majority of the shirts were designed to be quite fitted and were generally ruined by some form of ridiculously ugly design.  The next few months my tummy would be getting bigger and bigger, why on earth would I want to show the world that state with a skin tight shirt?  Every pound that comes on is just one more I’m going to have to work off as soon as this little one has pressed the evac button.  I don’t need to show that off!  If it wasn’t skin tight, then it was super exposing.  Seriously, why do I want my entire neck/shoulders and upper chest exposed?  Aside from turtle necks, practically all shirts had these ridiculously big cut outs at the top.  Not wearing this stuff regularly, I never truly appreciated the different between the cut of a men’s t-shirt and a women’s t-shirt.

I knew that eventually, this was going to be it.  Wearing XL guys shirts would only get me so far down the line, so I figured I would be a good sport and try some of this stuff on.  Now I have no idea what kind of “cut” my pants are, but I don’t like it when they are tight on my legs.  Yeah, that posed a problem with the crazy prego pants.  Why wear pants if you can see every inch of my leg anyway.  The jeans might as well have been jeggings, and that would just never happen.  I would rather tell my boss that I am wearing joggers for the long run, than sort than wear those.  Just not for me and nobody wants to see that.  To make the full ensemble, I tried on some plain tees that my bud brought me.  This is when the extent of the exposure was fully discovered.

Putting on this plain T-shirt, I felt like it was missing a chunk of material because I was so exposed I could see my bra.  Pulling the change room curtain open, I had no regard for the husband directly across from me wasting time on his phone.  I spotted my friend who happened to be on the other side of the store, and declared my findings.  “I HAVE CLEAVAGE!!!”  Yup, the poor staff who were slowly adjusting to my thoughts on their merchandise were now fully aware of what they were dealing with.  With a smile, my bud walked over and explained that I was wearing the shirt too far forward which is why it went so low.  But when it was worn properly, it might as well have been backless with how exposed my back looked.  Apparently layering was a thing, so we tried putting tank tops (or “tanks” as they seemed to be called in this foreign realm that I was in) underneath, but apparently women’s “tanks” are just as bad as their t-shirts in terms of exposure.  This was not going well….

Eventually, all four of the staff on shift were bringing me items.  I’m pretty certain that they saw it as a challenge, to see whether or not it would be poo pood right away, or if I would at least attempt to put it on.  I knew they brought something particularly awesome when I heard my buddy turn them back before I had a chance to see what was waiting for me on the other side of the curtain.  One of the poor young ladies approached with such confidence while the curtain was actually open and asked me directly, “what about this?”  I would not dress my enemy with the shirt that she had in her hands.  I looked to my friend who was right there and asked if I should be nice or not as I wasn’t sure this employee had really comprehended the challenge that she had just accepted.  My friend looked over and very politely said “That’s a no…” and the young women took the item away.

My wife did not come on this trip with me, so we found it important to keep her in the loop.  After all, it was unfair for her to miss out on all the fun.  In order to commemorate the occasion, we took photos that truly encompassed the level of enthusiasm I had  throughout.

In the end, I bought two pairs of pants (one pair of jeans and one pair of dress pants) and a couple of shirts.  You know that it was successful when I was not comfortable wearing any of the items purchased, but apparently androgynous maternity wear is a horribly ridiculous concept.  I’m going to have to get a little creative as things progress.