Pregnancy Outfits
NB: I’ve had to do this post in two parts, due to all the pics. I posted part two first, so you can read from the top of the page downwards in order to get the photos in the right order.
The beginning and end of pregnancy carry the same dilemma: to show off the belly or to hide it? Since I look about four months pregnant on a normal day, my initial goal was to make sure people knew that THIS time, I really was pregnant. Hence the usefulness of this top, which unzips from either top or bottom (or indeed both). I figured everyone would know that only a pregnant woman would deliberately draw attention to a suspicious belly bulge.
The above and below photos were taken in week 20.
Since I’m not Elvis, I never thought I’d wear a jumpsuit. But a giant belly does its best to cast off clothing in both directions (tops roll up; pants roll down) so I saw potential and took advantage. It worked very well for most of second trimester, and because it was held up mainly by elastic at the very top, it was more comfortable than any other item (in my experience, even elastic below the bust was soon uncomfortable).
My various long skirts were useful for a while, as they simply sat higher and higher on my belly – but this (at 21 weeks) was the last time I was able to wear this particular skirt.
At 22 weeks, I was barely able to get in and out of this dress, despite the adjustable sides (which, though helpful, aren’t an attractive way to dress in pregnancy – in my opinion):
This is a dress I inherited from my grandmother (several fashions of the past or the third world make great maternity wear). Other than my bare arms, it gives me no shape at all – but if you want to conceal a pregnancy, this kind of thing works (only in the sense that it makes absolutely everyone look pregnant). Very comfortable. 24 weeks.
These three photos were all taken at 25 weeks. The corset-style front lacing looked excellent about two weeks before this photo was taken – giving me back the illusion of an hourglass figure. I’d deliberately bought a jumpsuit in a larger size, but it still had a thin line of waist elastic, which meant this was the last time I was able to wear it (because of nausea – it still fit, but I kept automatically pushing the waistband higher, which wasn’t a good look). The golden dress is useful shape-wise in that it bares my arms and legs (which at this stage of the pregnancy were still roughly as they were) and is tight across the chest (unfortunately too tight, in this case, but the theory was good):
26 weeks. The pattern on this skirt (and the viscosity of the artificial material) made me look much more pregnant instantly. This was the last of my long skirts to still fit, and it did mean that it wasn’t ankle-length any more (always sad – the reason I made my own skirts is that shops never get my length right. Fie on three-quarter length!) At this point, the brown top was the only good top for me to wear, because all other tops just rode up my belly and bunched unnattractively below my bust. Because any trace of elastic (or worse, non-elastic binding) made me sick, this was the last time I wore anything that wasn’t a dress.
27 weeks. I made a surprising and pleasant discovery when I added this jacket to this dress. Suddenly the dress had shape, and so did I. The jacket buttons across the chest, which brought attention to the one body part improved by pregnancy. It fell away beautifully, framing my belly in an inverted triangle. The moral here is that every pregnant lady should have a three-quarter length jacket with a single fastening at chest height.
Part Two is here.
Pregnancy Outfits (part two)
Part one is here.
29 weeks. This dress was just cute. It gives shape in three ways – showing arms, showing legs, and giving a “waist” just below the bust. I wore heels just for the photo. Most pregnant women can’t wear heels, because they become extremely uncomfortable – and because fatigue + major centre of gravity changes = falling over.
32 weeks. This dress was made of stretchy fabric, which was great until it became rapidly baggier. It was slightly too wide under the bust, which was perfect for me because the slightest hint of elastic anywhere hurt me (but it was close enough to my actual shape to preserve the “high waist” look).
The “hide your belly” school of pregnancy tends to go for all-black outfits (which at least match everything, but they certainly don’t hide one’s belly for long). The down side of black is that it picks up every hint of dust, cat hair, or food in the room and displays it proudly (usually on one’s newly-expanded bum).
At 33 weeks, this was my first and only actual maternity dress. It has a generous amount of fabric (much of it gathered handily just above the belly, with a conveniently adjustable tie at the high-waist line) and is even long enough that I don’t have to shave my legs to wear it (an increasingly difficult task). The adjustable tie made it my most comfortable outfit, and the gathered fabric meant that, although it was stretchy fabric, it didn’t get baggy.
34 weeks. This dress and the above both had rather low-cut necks which I fixed with strategic stitches in the right spot (which only works when the neckline is made up of two pieces of fabric folded over in a V). Just because my breasts have grown doesn’t mean I want them running around the neighbourhood making new friends.
The blue dress had extremely light, comfortable fabric. It felt great, but/and exaggerated every curve (not all of which are attractive, even if you like the pregnant shape). Also, the fabric was so light it was a little see-through – and there was no way I was wearing another layer underneath – so I had to wear it cautiously (eg indoors).
35 weeks. This dress was also amazingly low-cut, and Mum suggested I wear a singlet. A singlet would definitely ride up and bunch somewhere unfortunate, so instead I wore a crop top (grey). Crop tops are made to be tight, so I had to find and buy one that was four sizes larger than my bra size.
But if I wanted to take more belly shots (without the belly being covered by clothing, I mean), the crop top would be very handy in its own right. It will probably come into play when I’m in labour.
Since I’m at 35 weeks today, that’s the lot!
I never did get into the horizontal stripes favoured by the “show off your belly” school, but there’s always next pregnancy 🙂
Annual Shopping Spree
Every year for Christmas, my mum takes me clothes shopping. It’s always one of my best Christmas presents, since I almost never buy clothes for myself. This year it was particularly exciting. I bought maternity bras in first trimester (correctly guessing that my cup size couldn’t possibly grow any more), but since then my internal organs have been pushed upwards to make room for Louisette, so those bras have become painfully tight.
The other unusual thing about this year’s shopping spree was that we hired a wheelchair. It has become clear lately that if I walk more than about fifty metres at what I now call “medium pace” but most people would call “zombie speed”, my hips give me trouble for 2-4 days afterwards. So a wheelchair was a cunning plan – one that also had the benefit of being both luxurious and novel. It was heavenly (and privately amusing to see young shop assistants fall over themselves to help me, and older assistants not care a bit). I even ran into a wheelchair-bound friend from college, who enjoyed being at the same level as me for once.
Mum and I successfully found a better maternity bra almost immediately. I’d planned to buy masseur sandals and a bikini top (in case I spend some of my labour in the bath for pain relief), but it became rapidly clear that masseur sandals are harder to find than they used to be. So much for that.
The swimsuit experience was epic. I have absolutely no idea how larger women find swimsuits – I suppose they all buy one-piece styles – but it was virtually impossible to find anything above a size 16, which was instantly and alarmingly inadequate (even bikini tops are meant to cover at least 50% of the breast area). It was kind of flattering, until mum and I tried the strapless styles in a desperate attempt to find something that worked. In the end, we did find one that technically fit: a hot pink frilly number that accentuated my broad shoulders and made me look exactly like a footballer in drag.
So we didn’t buy swimmers or shoes, but my mum (who is always trying to get me to buy new clothes rather than make my own or wear second-hand items) managed to get me to try on a few dresses. I ended up with two new maternity dresses and a crop top (one of them has a rather low neck, so this was my solution), which was excellent since I had exactly one wearable dress left, and it’s stretching out of shape in an alarmingly saggy manner.
So, altogether, after several hours being wheeled around the mall, I ended up with two full outfits which mum gave me immediately, and which I’ve been wearing ever since. A good haul, and a timely one.
This dress is actually a proper maternity dress, designed to be adjustable:
“On the whole, women are smarter than men”
I heard the phrase and was so shocked that I stared at the TV screen and replayed it in my head. No, I wasn’t hearing things. No, the speaker wasn’t joking. No, the speaker wasn’t attempting to impress anyone.
It was Clive James, aged seventy, talking to Andrew Denton on the latter’s “Elders” show.
It astonished me that any man would actually believe that. When I was fifteen, an intelligent older woman gently advised me that my own intelligence might be a barrier to romance – or, if you prefer, she told me that gentlemen prefer their women dumb.
This was quite shocking to me, since I’d always felt that intelligence was like money – the more you had, the more attractive you were. But unfortunately, statistics do reveal that women who are more intelligent are less likely to marry (those statistics don’t reveal whether it’s because they are too smart to marry – as a happily married woman, I think the statistics would indicate that men are too insecure to marry someone they recognise as smarter than themselves).
Whatever the truth of the matter, from the age of fifteen I learnt to sometimes bite my lip rather than speaking out (especially to correct an ignorant man), I threw a lot of poor grammar and clumsy phrasing into my everyday speech (the ironic use of poor grammar still amuses me hugely), and I developed that irritating habit of laughing when I make a joke – not because I’m so hilarious I can’t resist, but to make sure that people who don’t get it at least know that a joke has occured in the vicinity.
Some of you will find those changes stupid, and some tragic. I suspect those two groups will be divided largely along gender lines.
Personally, I think women are smarter and stronger (mentally and emotionally) than men. How could I not, when I so often find myself pretending to believe a man is smarter than me (I don’t do this with CJ, but I still do so with other men)? When I push past my natural preference for my own gender and try to be objectively rational, I think that men and women are differently intelligent, and we simply tend to value (and to notice) our own gender’s intelligence styles more readily than the other. Men are also more likely to base their self-esteem on intelligence (better than basing it on beauty, at least), which can make them inflexible when it comes to admitting they’re wrong or less intelligent than someone else. My own self-esteem is linked strongly to independence (particularly financial independence, which I equate with being an adult) and intelligence, both of which have been decimated by mental illness. This is a problem.
If you’re pregnant and you know it, clap your hands
According to this Huffington Post article, 1 in 450 women don’t know they’re pregnant until after twenty weeks have passed – that’s halfway through the pregnancy.
Since I was about twelve, the familiar joke of “You must be pregnant” in response to every known symptom of physical illness has cropped up over and over again. Maybe there’s a frightening amount of truth to that (for one thing, estimates on the rate of miscarriage are as high as 70% – but most of those occur before the woman’s period is even due, so they pass unnoticed).
It seems insane that anyone could fail to notice they were pregnant for more than about a month – and most of us hear a statistic like the one above and immediately think, “Wow, that’s some serious denial.” There’s some truth in that – I am quite close to a man who realised his girlfriend was pregnant long before the thought had occured to her – but apparently in most cases the story is quite different. Apparently the body will very often deliberately hide a pregnancy from the mother by releasing only a small amount of the HCG hormone – the one that causes nausea and stops periods (amd the one that turns urine or blood tests positive for pregnancy). It means a miscarriage is more likely, but it also means that factors like maternal stress or illness are reduced (useful, for example, if the mother is poor and malnutritioned). Ultimately, it gives the baby its best chance of survival.
I like this article because it confirms what I’ve felt all along – the worse I feel, the better off my baby is. It also confirms what several people have said: Bad pregnancy, good birth (because many of the hormones are designed specifically to help with the birth – like relaxin, which is doing horrible things to my back, hips, and digestive system, but useful things to the birth canal).
So that’s. . . nice.
Narnia #7 of 7: “The Last Battle” by CS Lewis
Once again, this book has more cynical tone than some of the earlier stories – but it is still most definitely a children’s book. The theme is deception and doubt, and the nature of Aslan is called into question. Aslan himself is apparently both silent and absent.
The story begins inside Narnia, as a greedy ape hatches a plan to make Narnia more civilized (because even in fiction, history teaches us nothing) using a fake Aslan to get his way. It works all too well, and within a few chapters the last king of Narnia, King Tirian (my first fictional crush – and I wouldn’t say I’m entirely over him yet) is imprisoned.
That is when two children from our world, Jill and Eustace, arrive to free him and – for better or worse – put their lives on the line in a desperate attempt to save the last remnants of goodness, imagination, and joy in Narnia as the Calormenes once more take over. This time, the lines between good and evil are blurred, and hope battles despair throughout.
This is the final battle, and it is the end. Many previous characters reappear, which is highly enjoyable for fans – but the losses of this book are greater than in the rest of the series. The joy of this book is greater, too, however. The first and the last books are a perfect framing device for the whole series.
Free sample (a good Calormene named Emeth is speaking):
“. . . my happiness is so great that it even weakens me like a wound. And this is the marvel of marvels, that he called me Beloved, me who am but as a dog –”
“Eh? What’s that?” said one of the Dogs.
“Sir,” said Emeth. “It is but a fashion of speech which we have in Calormen.”
“Well, I can’t say it’s one I like very much,” said the Dog.
“He doesn’t mean any harm,” said an older Dog. “After all, we call our puppies boys when they don’t behave properly.”
“So we do,” said the first Dog. “Or girls.”
“S-s-sh,” said the older Dog. “That’s not a nice word to use. Remember where you are.”
Rating: PG. I’d call it absolutely G and safe for anyone, but one character is a close parallel to Jesus Christ (in one of the later books this character clearly states that he exists on Earth as well, is known by a different name there, and that the children have been brought into Narnia so that they can more easily recognise him on Earth), and some atheists have found that offensive. The books do focus on the adventures, rather than allegory about 95% of the time.
It LIIIIVES!
Our balcony is where plants come to die.
It is South-facing with a concrete base, brick walls on two sides, and metal fences on the other two sides. Watering the plants (or simply looking at them to see if they were dead or not) was one of the things that didn’t happen when I was at my most sick, so I wasn’t particularly surprised to find that one previously happy plant had withered and died. But since I was still sick and still pregnant, I didn’t bother uprooting it and throwing it away.
Several months passed, and then this happened:
The moral of this story is that if you procrastinate long enough, DEAD THINGS COME BACK TO LIFE.
Pregnant Seasons
This entry is somewhat Australia-centric (and doesn’t even take into account the tropics), but it’s what I know. Extrapolate at will. It’s all about my experiences of the advantages and disadvantages of the seasons.
Winter: First Trimester
Most women are nauseous in first trimester. For me, nausea makes me cold. This translated to massive electricity bills. On the up side, it gets two types of misery (nausea and cold) over right at the start. Also, it’s very easy to hide one’s baby belly when wearing Winter clothes (which many people choose to do for at least the first three months). Plus, if you are in first trimester in Winter, it means that when your baby is starting on solid foods (and thus on much smellier nappies) it will be Winter again – and therefore things will be less stinky in the outside bin.
Spring: Second Trimester
This worked really well for me, because the second trimester is the best time to do every type of baby preparation – shopping, moving furniture, doing extra work (a nice plan), and so on. Spring makes everything easier, which hopefully means stuff gets done before third trimester sets in.
Sidebar: It’s not all that great a time to actually give birth, because it’s just so common. Maternity wards are always over-full nine months after the holiday period.
Summer: Third Trimester
A lot of women get extremely hot when pregnant – especially in third trimester – which is a disadvantage (personally I’ve been fine, but Summer hasn’t really struck yet). The other down side is that every pregnancy involves extra fat (you’re meant to put on 12-15 kilos, of which 7-9 kilos aren’t even in your belly area), and that can make the pregnant woman feel insecure about wearing sleeveless tops and so on (which reminds me, I shall be posting a large number of pregnancy outfits from week 20 to week 38 very soon).
Summer is great for clothing, because dresses are the most comfortable and versatile type of maternity wear (far more adjustable than pants, for example), and they’re also cooler than almost anything else. The whole difficulty of taking shoes and pants on and off is very easily solved by dresses and slip-on shoes (the shoes in particular make life a lot easier).
For anyone who works in education, having a baby in the Christmas holidays is really handy for giving you a natural kind of maternity leave. It’s not so nice for the kid, who will often have friends away on holiday during their birthday, and/or get those dodgy “combined Christmas and birthday” presents.
——————————————————————-
As I grow less and less active, my nausea is not as bad (although the range of foods that gross me out seems to be getting bigger). It’s getting replaced by muscle pain (which I’m now more or less used to) and that wacky drugged-out pregnant-lady fatigue. I’ve gotta say, the switch from nausea to fatigue is SO NICE. I was deeply afraid my ability to drive, walk, and think would be impaired – which they are, severely, and sooner than expected – but on my most tired days I just don’t care any more.
It’s not so nice for CJ, who is physically ill with the stress of all the usual life stuff plus doing almost all my chores in addition to his own (again) plus the knowledge that he’s fast becoming the only mental or physical adult in a household of three.
Six weeks until the due date.
See the milk bottle in the above picture? Louisette already weighs more than that.
Screams in the night
It’s happened before: we’ve been invaded by a neighbour’s cat who saunters in through our oh-so-inviting cat door only to realise that (a) Princess Ana will defend her territory tooth and claw, and (b) The cat door only goes inwards – not outwards.
This time CJ and I were awoken at 2:00am by such an extreme cacophony of screaming and hissing and banging that we both bolted to the front door expecting scenes of bloody carnage. The intruder fled past us to the study so quickly I couldn’t even tell whether it was our cat or someone else’s (it turned out Indah was hiding in our room, and Ana was outside looking in – furiously preventing the intruder’s escape). CJ opened the front door and the cat flew back past us and streaked away into the night.
This meant Ana and the intruder were both outside. CJ and I called sweetly for our fluffy/psychotic princess (she’s one of those peculiar cats who will often come when you call – presumably out of simple curiosity). Once she was within sight (but clearly too psyched up to come in), CJ went and ran the shower for a second. Ana is addicted to running water, so at that stage instinct took over and she ran in to lap at the shower tiles. At which point we locked her inside for the night.
Pictured: the defender of our borders. Approach with extreme caution!
CJ and I went back to bed, soothed Indah, and lay down to sleep as well as we could. Once again, none of the cats were so much as scratched. This time was different, however. This time the WHOLE family was involved – all the excitement gave Louisette the hiccups.
