We are living in a material world/ And I am a material girl/ You know that we are living in a material world/ And I am a material girl
Adventures at the chain maternity store while shopping for bras that are more supportive and protective.
Friendly-But-Clueless-Saleslady: Is your husband excited?
Frankncents: Oh, I'm not married [smiles]
Frankncents: No, this is my partner [indicates LB, standing next to me at the register]
FBCS: Oh! So, did you do, like, in-vitro?
Frankncents: No, we didn't have to go to all that trouble... [still smiling, but, um, why is it any business of yours how I got pregnant? Is your usual follow-up to the husband question "and did you have sex in the bed or the kitchen?"]
FBCS: [confused] So, are you adopting? Are you even pregnant?
Frankncents: Yes, I'm pregnant! [lady, why would I be buying maternity bras and looking at maternity clothes if I weren't planning to give birth at some point in the not-so-near future?]
LB and I had a very hard time keeping our composure until we left the store!
So, following the litany of new pregnancy symptoms from the last post, what Rachel Pepper terms "Atomic Titties" have shown up, with a vengeance. Adjusting the seat belt this afternoon elicited an "oh, fuck" as my hand grazed one breast (with a sweatshirt over it, may I add). Now, I may not keep my language school-appropriate at all times, but I do not typically swear like a sailor at safety equipment. This, though, takes me back to 4th grade, when my breasts started to develop. I have a strong memory of preparing to say the pledge of allegiance one morning, placing my right hand over my heart, and pulling it away as if my shirt was on fire. My-goodness-me, what on earth was going on in there? This is like that, only now everything sticks out farther, so they get bumped more.
The Amazons probably chopped one off just to keep from giving away their position with agonized screaming when they set up a shot with the bow, y'know, hunting while pregnant and all that.