The Best Part

the best part of being pregnant so far? Besides the guilt-free indulging in McNuggets, SpaghettiO's, 5 solid meals a day, popcorn, etc, etc, etc, it's the happy wash. I'll be walking along, not really thinking about anything, and then I'll feel this warm glow coming from the inside. Man, I know this sounds lame, but the sun comes out from behind a cloud and I get this huge smile on my face. I feel loved, I feel loving, I feel that everything is going to be okay in the world.

You see, I'm a worrier. I worry about, well, pretty much everything. I worry that I'll never be able to afford a house on a social worker's salary. I worry that I won't be a good social worker. I worry that my kid and I won't get along. I worry that my kid is going to be into 50-Cent. I worry that someone will buy my kid a Bratz doll and I will have to be the mean mom and throw it away and it will scar them for life. I worry that I won't be able to afford a prom dress. I worry that we'll still be at war and that my child will get drafted, and he'll return as a triangular flag. I worry that civilized society will have completely and totally broken down, and that life will resemble Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451." That one I really worry about.

So, when I'm walking along and someone sets off the happy wash, it's even better if I've been deeply eembedded in Operation WorryNow all day. Because for a few minutes, the world is a safe and lovely place, where people are kind. Kids are only interested in furthering their education and the pursuit of music, poetry, photography. For a minute, I can go back to my PollyAnna roots, and remember that we'll always have enough. That I'll always be enough for my kids, and that they'll never forget where they came from.

It's at that moment that I can say with complete and total plausibility that life is really, really swell.

(First published: October 6, 2007)

My Heart Is Now Spoken For...

...I've been feeling this horrible pain in my stomach lately. Love's lost or past regrets? Neither. My jeans. While I'm not exactly at that stage in the pregnancy where I've got the big belly, I'm just at the 'my pants are a wee bit too tight mode.' Unbuttoning them in the car was always an option, but when I gave up whatever dignity I had and did it in class today, I decided enough was enough.

I went to the store, not knowing what to expect. I'd seen maternity jeans, but had never put them on. I have a pair at home, that were passed down from my sister. They are designed so that the whole thing goes up and over your belly with a cotton panel and drawstring to keep the whole thing in place. In three more months, these jeans will be what I wear night and day, but for the moment, I need something a little different.

So, I grab the first pair, and begin the examination. The wash is downright fashionable without being too trendy, the pockets look about right, I like the cut of the leg, and the 4-inch wide elastic waistband is both intriguing and ingeniously colored so as not to be noticable.

I grab a pair in my current size, and in the next size up. Hey, who know how large this Czech ass will become? I go off to the dressing room, to meet my destiny.

Oh, what joyous events unfolded. I slip ever so slowly into the pair in my current size. They fit beautifully. Better than beautifully. Jeans have never made me feel so lovely, not even my ridiculously expensive Lucky's or Seven for all Mankind's. I do some squats to test their stretchiness. I do some high-kicks. I could a couple of Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks to an imaginary attacker. At this point, satisfied my jeans will move ever which way, I stop because it's just depressing to see myself doing roundhouse kicks and not-so-high kicks, especially after this weekend's marathon "Making the Team" where really, really skinny women try to become Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. (By the way, did anyone see the girl, who not only thought Condoleeza Rice was a man, and called her Condoleeza Jones, she said she didn't know who she wanted for the next pres, cause she was so happy with our current one? Yikes!) I could squeeze a family of four in there, and still look stylish. The elastic waistband sits ever so comfortably right underneath the "bump and beer" I have, the pooch I have that's equal parts baby and the many, many, many lagers, hefeweizens and ales I consumed before I knew this seamonkey was coming. I can stretch out the ass, stretch out the belly, I'm golden. Just in case, I try on the next size up. Luckily for me and everyone here, I'm swimming in them, no way would they ever fit.

I grab a few new shirts to go with, some actual maternity tees, that look like everything else in the world, except they say 'Mom-To-Be' on the label and some organic stretch mark cream and belly oil, and I'm off to the races.

Who knew that an elastic waistband, could make one woman so happy? So my advice to you, go get some maternity jeans, even if you aren't pregnant. If they increase the happini like I think they will, well then, Mister, I'll have created Utopia.

(First published: October 1, 2007)