The first time you do something it's always tough. I snow ploughed myself into other toddlers on the bunny slope the first time I went skiing. I sat shyly in the corner my first day of Grade 1, hoping no one would see me, or god forbid ask me a question. My first time with a guy - that was no fun at all - memorable, but no fun at all.
My first time buying pregnancy clothes: maybe not the worst thing ever, but it didn't go very well and I ended up leaving the store, Kick maternity on Eglinton Ave., just west of Avenue Road, with a pair of non-maternity leggings and nothing more.
The upside is that I did learn what "pop" means. The salesperson had to explain it to me over and over, after every time I said something like: "I can't buy these, they're too big" or "when the hell can I start purchasing clothes that zip up?" or "why do I feel like Steve Urkel?"
"Well," she said, getting increasingly frustrated each time, "you haven't popped yet."
I've heard the term, a lot, but until this weekend I didn't understand that to "pop," the salesgirl explained, means to be the same size in the morning as in the evening - when the late day bloat sticks around. Forever.
For first time preggers, such as myself, that may not happen till six months. Sheesh!
So, I did what I usually do when shopping for clothes that don't fit (until now it's been jeans). I threw a tantrum. A quiet one, just in the dressing room by myself to ensure I could return to the store without feeling like the salesperson put my face on a dartboard in the back room.
And I left with my leggings. At least they don't need to zip up!
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