waterboarding has nothing on window shopping!

Waterboarding has nothing on this kind of torture!

I took myself window shopping yesterday. I strolled along Bloor St. after work and peeked into stores that carry the furthest things from maternity clothes. Clothes that I used to be able to wear in small sizes. 

Clothes that I would die to buy for spring. Or at least fantasize about buying - because I think they might actually fit me!

It was horrible. 

Salespeople - the teenybopper kind - smiled politely until they saw the belly. Then they gritted their teeth and tried to get away. Unfortunately not before they asked "oh, wow, like how many months are you?"

"A million," I said, and re-folded the pencil skirt I'm dying to be able to wear right now.

Since I'm feeling rather bulbous and uncomfortable these days (sleeping sitting up just plain sucks) I've overcome my fear of labour and delivery and just want this baby out. 

So, I've focused my anxieties on losing the baby weight after its born. This lead me to the evening's second bout of torture: I walked into my old boxing gym and saw one of the trainers I love - she's skinny and bouncy in her tight pants and shrunken sweatshirt. God - what I wouldn't give to wear a shrunken sweatshirt!!!

I tried on one of my old ones the other night (from my former unpreggo life) and it barely covered half a boob (I can successfully hide an entire pack of pencils underneath my boobs and in that crease between my bosom and stomach - very unbecoming).

I digress. Right at that moment when I saw the trainer, a light breeze from outside's springlike weather wafted past me. And it made me, more than anything, more than dying to wear a small top, want to workout again.

Like how I used to workout: like crazy: big weights! High jumping! Stair running!

And then I got one of those awful sharp pains in my lower abdomen - the ones that mean your ligaments are loosening to prepare for delivery.

And then I had to sit down.

And it sucked!

Yes! M Coat! Yes!

I broke down and bought the M coat several weeks ago. On sale. And, I have to say, I love it. Truly.

It has been some time since I've fallen so hard for an article of clothing. Crazy high-heeled shoes and empire-waisted dresses did it for me before pregnancy, but now, I'm smitten by my big, puffy, massively-pocketed, fake-fur lined maternity ski-jacket.

That's right. I'm a total loser.

But a loser who doesn't feel like she's ten pounds of sugar in a five pound sack. A loser who doesn't look like a tightly-packed sausage (even though I do sort of resemble a sausage). A loser who doesn't seem like a balloon about to burst. A loser who can safely laugh at MIA's Grammy night polka dot freak costume because I have a better cover-up. (seriously, she looked ridiculous, right? Like, a giant ladybug about to sprout another giant ladybug, right?)

And the M coat is warm - deceptively so, considering it is so lightweight. 

But the best part about the M coat is that it doesn't make me look or feel like a schlep. It's a ski jacket with a bit of cool, even if it does have an "m" for "mom" stitched onto it's front. 

And even though I haven't felt like shaving my legs for the last while because bending over has gotten far too difficult, I know that no one will notice them when I'm wearing my M coat. 

Best purchase ever. 

Marshallows aren't kinda cute!

Gaining weight has never been my favourite thing.

And watching the numbers on the scale go up and up and up makes me nauseous (as if I need more of that!)

But, I have to admit there is some comfort in packing on the pounds. For a woman in her early thirties, pregnancy is probably one of the only socially acceptable occasions to bulk up.

"This is your time! Eat what you want! Enjoy it! everyone says, when I whine about getting double butt, flabby arms and thunder thighs. "You're not fat," they say. "You're pregnant!"

A rabid worker-outer and compulsive watcher of what I ate pre-pregnancy, just letting myself indulge feels sinful. And I just can't allow myself to gorge on chocolate or Dairy Queen or stuff my face with hamburgers.

But I've agreed to compromise. No more denying myself what I want. For the first time in my life I'm allowing myself to order poutine. And finish it.  To buy fish and chips at Chippys and only share a little. Not much!

I feel liberated.  I feel like shouting "woman power" from the top of a building or a light standard (if only I could climb!).

"And you seem in control," my old friend Daniel told me recently (he didn't know about the light standard idea). "You're not like holding a hoagie in one hand, a blackberry in the other hand and whining like nuts." (he may be commenting on other aspects of me as well, but anywho...)

Slowly, I'm coming to terms with my new shape - just as I may start to look like a marshmallow!

Bring it on!

Olive oil to smooth out the skin. Who knew?

A few weeks ago I was covering a story about a teenager who'd been stabbed in the stomach in the cafeteria of his high school (he has since made a full recovery). While reporting on this story I found myself in a hospital room with all five of his sisters.

All of them were pretty, thin, tall and a few were pregnant.

One woman, who was seven months along and said she was having twins, spontaneously lifted up her shirt when there was a moment's calm in the room. She grabbed a bottle from her purse, squeezed a stream of translucent liquid into her hand and rubbed it all over her belly.

"Olive oil," she said, responding to the quizzical look on my face.

"Like extra virgin olive oil?" I asked. "Like the kind I put on my salad?"

"Yup," she said.

"Why are you doing that?" I had to know.

"Do I have stretch marks?" she asked me.

"No!" I said.

"There you go," she answered.

Who knew? I've always knew about vinegar and its many uses. Same with the smell fighting  power of baking soda, which is also used to make cake (I am not a baker, can you tell?)  

But, olive oil to prevent stretch marks?? That's definitely a new one.

I can't say I've raided my kitchen cabinet just yet..... but I'm thinking about it!

Skinny pregnant women are invading my space

I know I'm obsessing - but I just can't get off this pregnancy clothing issue. In my opinion, the whole thing is a sham.

Yes, there are some brands of pants that have the stretchy waist and are made of elasticized material. Okay, some shirts are longer in the front and gather at the sides. Fine, tights have a tummy window that are soft on the belly.

But, the rest of the clothes - loose fitting sweater dresses, expensive turtle necks from stores like Belly, on Mount Pleasant, and Kick , on Eglinton Ave., are just regular brands with a heftier price tag.

And, I was told at Belly just this weekend that it's impossible to get my size in almost anything because fall merchandise came in a while ago and now its all gone.

This makes no sense. You can't shop early as a pregnant woman - you have no idea how you'll look, how your butt will balloon or whether all the fat will migrate to your arms or thighs.

And, stores like that attract skinny women, who don't look pregnant.

When I was at Belly this Sunday, a tall (about eight feet), toothpick of a woman who looked one month pregnant (or less) was cooing at herself in the mirror and checking out her butt in a pair of, what else - skinny pregnancy jeans (a ridiculous contradiction in terms, if you ask me).

"Look," my mom said. "She looks so cute in those jeans."

"Of course she does," I yelled. "She's not pregnant."

"I am," the woman answered with a scowl.

"Oh please," I snorted in return.

My mother, embarrassed, apologized for my outburst with her eyes. And then said "she's not taking well to this gaining weight thing," to the salesperson, in reference to my crustiness.

Well, I just don't think barely pregnant women who weigh less than the fetus they're carrying should be allowed to shop next to rotund turkey-like women, such as myself.

Admittedly, I've had a long day at work and I'm tired and hormonal. But come on - I thought pregnancy was a time to embrace bigness?? But how can I do that when even pregnancy stores aren't a safe zone??

Time for bed.

they still don't fit!

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! 

big footed mommy?

I have no doubt my friends were hiding pregnancy details from me - all part of their elaborate plans to get to me to give in, take the plunge and get pregnant.

And it worked. Until now, I had no idea what odd things could become of a woman's body these nine months. And beyond.

The weight gain I was prepared for (somewhat). But, I could never have anticipated what a colleague told me the other day.

"My feet grew a whole size and a half," she said. "I still can't fit into my pre-pregnancy shoes!"

She had children a few years ago.

No!!!!

That's the last thing I could have anticipated. And I have such cute shoes! What a cruel joke.

What evolutionary benefit could bigger feet possibly confer on a mother? Extra balance??

Phooey. What's next? Don't tell me my boobs will get smaller once I breastfeed!

Is it time to shop for maternity clothes?

Mornings, for me, have always been a race out the door. Today was no different - except now that I'm pregnant (see the first of my weekly columns), I'm slower. A lot slower. And, indecisive - especially about what to wear. It seems my choices lately have become ever so limited.

Usually light-headed first thing in the a.m., I stare up (lying on the floor of my closet, of course) at all the clothes I've accumulated over the last few years and try to figure out what will fit.

My pants don't. They won't zip up. My shirts are too tight. Even if I do get the buttons to close, they'll pop open later, like when I'm interviewing the police chief or something (it's happened. Thank god I was able to slip away and do them up before anyone noticed).

But, I'm not big enough to buy maternity clothes. I call this stage body purgatory. Too big, yet still to small. And I can't bring myself to spend money on regular clothes that I'll grow out of in two weeks. Call me cheap. I can take it.

So, I've resigned myself to just looking odd. I refuse to buy a belly band, those giant lycra belts that are supposed to keep one's pants up, so I just wear long tops to cover the open zippers.

And, I refuse to take off a trapeze-like jacket that one friend said is starting to look like Linus' blanket.

I'm waiting to "pop" as one woman put it. That moment when I finally look pregnant, rather than just plumpy. Someone please tell me that happens soon!