Dressed to kill. Literally. Getting dressed in the morning is murder...

Today was my first day back after two weeks off. And I found the following very frustrating:

1. My regular jeans still fit, but they push in on my belly in such a way that it hurts. Not because they are too tight, but the pressure is just plain uncomfortable. Hence, I had no choice but to wear my maternity jeans today.


2. Maternity jeans almost require you to wear maternity tops because of the black elastic band. Regular shirts are mostly too short to hide the fact that your jeans stop below your hip bone. However, most of my maternity tops are either not summer appropriate (stores are selling sweaters and fall items and it is still 105 flipping degrees outside) OR are the type of shirts that are more fitted. I used to feel fine in fitted tops, but - since entering the seemingly never ending baby beer gut phase - I am too self conscious. I just feel fat, and have newly developed and defined gut rolls to prove it. And the maternity clothes just seem to highlight all this fluff. No one needs to see that. Especially since the public at large has no idea that I am pregnant and not just obese. I find myself telling complete strangers that I am five and a half months pregnant. Like that somehow explains or forgives the fact that I no longer can dress myself properly.


3. For the love of all things holy: WHAT kind of underwear are you supposed to wear under maternity jeans? I am having enough wardrobe issues without worrying about panty lines across my lower abdomen. Yes, that's right. I'm NOT talking about panty lines around my upper thighs or butt, but lines that show off the top of my bikini briefs. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Throw me a freaking bone here! Can I have no dignity?


4. I am officially ashamed of my granny bras. Why is something so comfortable so completely hideous?


5. For the first trimester and a half, my body seemed to forget how to sweat. But, all of a sudden, I've started sweating again. Like a freaking sieve. And my facial oil glands are working overtime. No matter how hard I try to keep the shine or perspiration at bay, I'm a complete soggy disaster in the time it takes me to drive to work. And my hair refuses to be tamed by any kind of product. I get these crazy hairs around my face that stick straight up or curl in a I-didn't-even-bother-to-brush-my-hair today kind of way. Except I actually DID try, and it made no difference whatsoever. It is like I'm going through puberty again at thirty one.

In other news, I've been craving dried papaya for the last two and a half weeks. I don't get it because I'm not sure I've EVER had a papaya in my life - much less DRIED papaya. I just woke up one day, and was like: "Wonder where I can find me some dried papaya?"

That's right. Thor likes papaya and Enrique Inglesias.

Trevor is just worried because whatever I eat, Thor does, too. Except Trevor is more concerned about what I'm NOT eating. Namely hamburgers, sausage, bacon and onions.

(I just gagged a little just thinking about those foods.)

Theoretically, this means that his son might not LIKE these things, which is very un-Thor-like. Or un-Texas-like. Or un-man-like. I'm not really sure. All I know is that Trevor is just plain worried. And all the papaya and Enrique Inglesias are doing nothing to ease these concerns.

Personally, I think the Enrique Inglesias is a sign that Thor might be taking after my father, and is already practicing "The Jig" in utero. Hey, they say some things skip a generation.

As for the papaya? Yeah. I've got nothing.