Yesterday since Pearson decided to give us the most random holiday off (thanks, Columbus) and my parents were no longer visiting us in San Antonio (whale face), I decided a little retail therapy was in order. Unfortunately, after almost three hours in the mall I found myself in need of actual therapy. (Grahm said this post could also been named #firstworldproblems.)
2. Your favorite stores suddenly become obsolete. All the teeny bopper stores you used to thrive in no longer hold the key to your retail-therapy heart. You feel lost and alone and scared of all the string bean high schoolers who seem to be seriously judging you for daring to set foot in Forever 21. On the brink of sheer desperation and panic, you find yourself wandering into places you would normally only visit with your grandma like Talbots or Coldwater Creek. All to no avail.
3. Tissues are now a necessity. Waterworks happen in each and every store. Many times, you'll forget your current state. With blinding optimism you grab a colorful dress off the rack. It looks amazing on the size zero mannequin and probably would have been stellar on your pre-pregnancy bod. For a fleeting moment, you revert back to your pre-stretch mark days and try to wiggle into said garment. Suddenly, reality rears her ugly head and you're stuck in an extra small lace dress begging the poor girl in the changing room to help you make an escape.
4. You can easily walk away with nothing. An all day shopping trip and I leave the mall empty handed? That, my friends, would have been impossible not too long ago (much to Grahm's chagrin). Now, I'm lucky if I step out of a store with something other than granny panties or another set of spanx.
5. And, of course, there are about 1.5 million things you now have to consider when choosing a dress. Normally, I think two things: Does this color look good/How much does it cost? Now, I have an encyclopedia-esque list to ponder when I trying things on. (Excuse me a minute while I get all outline on you.)
a. Belly Button. It's a very weird thing to ask yourself "Will my belly button be visible?" when you're trying on a potential outfit. The answer? Always. I could be layered with every cardigan from here to Calcutta and that thing would still demand to be seen. Such a diva.
b. Side zipper. Never in my life have I prayed that a dress wouldn't have the insufferable contraption on the side. It's hard enough to wiggle your round self into the slim jim of a dress without worrying about zipping.
c. Form fitting. This is tricky. You're walking a dangerous line between potato sack and bachelorette party tight. You want to draw attention to your stomach so no one is guessing if that's yesterday's lunch or a baby, but not so much attention that they think your water is gonna drop it like it's hot at any given moment.
Moral of the story: The next baby shower you attend, compliment the bananas out of her dress. It may be the most foul chicken garment you've ever laid eyes on, but I guarantee you she spent more time hunting down a dress that was somewhat flattering than she did studying for her ACTs. (Sorry, Mom and Dad.)