Belly Up

I'm off to the beach for a week. This is exciting, not only for me but for all of my fellow beach-goers, because unbeknownst to them, they are about to see me rock a bikini at eight months pregnant.

It's coming for YOU!!!

For some reason as the weeks leading up to vacation ticked by, I found myself increasingly opposed to buying a special maternity bathing suit. Every single piece of clothing I've bought so far is made of jersey and should be able to stay in my wardrobe after I give birth, assuming I don't mind wearing T-shirts that reach my mid-thighs. But a maternity bathing suit is something you can't wear when you're not pregnant, and the cute ones usually cost at least $50. So I put my swollen foot down. I took Nancy Reagan's advice and just said no.

Now, though, I'm kind of regretting it. Don't get me wrong, I love my belly, and in private there's no state I'd rather be in than semi-nude (I say semi only because I feel that underpants are necessary for sitting on the couch, especially when we have company over--call me old-fashioned). But there's something that feels a little wrong about baring a pregnant belly in public. It feels... extra naked. Almost pornographic. Maybe because of the tumescence and all the blue veins?

Also, it might have something to do with the fact that I purchased the aforementioned bikini while in a Baby K-Hole, and as a result it is red and white striped with blue trim.

I am going to look like an egg-shaped American flag, and I won't even have my Wine Rack for solace.

But on the plus side I bet I could make a great fetish calendar. I smell a nesting project!

Belly Up