‘Oh my gosh Kim, look at your boobs’
And then the group of 3 girls and 2 guys discussed my boobs, their size, and how one should get a mould made of their boobs while pregnant to take to their plastic surgeon a few years later to recreate them with silicone.
My boobs weren’t a bad size to start with so, no – I probably won’t be making any mould or going to any plastic surgeon (She says now pre-breast feeding and droopy mom boob happens, while she continues to believe in the strength of doing flys). But this isn’t about my boobs.
This is about what I was wearing. You’d think, that for such a comment to be made – I was wearing a plunging neckline showing them off, but I wasn’t. I was just wearing a normal vest top.
Deciding what to wear daily is not my favourite part of my 24 hours – doing it pregnant has probably been one of the most challenging parts of the whole pregnancy. (That and the lists, but I’ll get to that).
I stopped being able to do my shorts and jeans up somewhere around when my hip bones started shattering – about 16 weeks in. My solution was easy – the masterful hair elastic trick. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, and as long as my shirt was long enough, we were all good.
Somewhere around 20 weeks I decided to give up on shorts (probably when I had to come off a Maldivian beach and back to the office) and so I opted for dresses. I’m a dress wearing kinda girl anyway and my wardrobe is full of them. I was never into tight dresses as I’ve always felt self-concious about my tummy (pah! oh if only I knew then what I know now!) so really – it made perfect sense. They should all fit.
That was until I whispered into my work-person’s ear “please come to the bathroom with me”. This wasn’t a girly moment skinner session. It was a plea for help. It was because I couldn’t fucking breath as my rib cages were being crushed into my lungs by the strength of the pseudo scuba fabric my dress was made from. She unzipped me. And I stood in a bathroom cubicle trying not to cry. I left early that day. Just so I could get home and take my dress off. Its been banished to the guestroom cupboard now along with any dress that isn’t designed like a sack.
I was in H&M on the weekend (all 26 weeks of me) and along with a handful of maternity jeans, dresses and tops, I eyed a pair of ‘normal women that aren’t growing a human’ leggings. Or Jeggings. You know, stretchy pants that any women, 26 weeks or not, should be able to wear. Should.
I grabbed a pair one size up, because I’m realistic – I’m about 6kg’s heavier since September’s surprise, and the baby human is growing in my tummy but also in my ass, plus while the hip shattering may have come to an end, I know the outcome was that they’re wider and so I’m not under any illusions about size.
Until there I was. Desperately clawing at a pair of black leggings that were stuck half way up my thigh willing them to slide up higher over my 26 week ass. They didn’t. And I was too exhausted to pull them back down again. It was the ultimate Ross and the baby powder/cream/leather pants moment. I left them mid-thigh for a while – placed my head against the cool mirror and thought, 14 more weeks… What the fuck am I going to wear!!!
Half naked Kim is something that happens a lot these days. More often than not on my bed and in tears, the occasional dressing room moment is creeping in too now. Mostly its after a long hot day in the office (or on set) – where the discomfort of knickers cutting into my side, bra’s that are too tight across my rib cage, or feet that are aching just for being attached to my body cause me to leave said office or shoot-set, arrive home, strip naked and land up on the bed with declarations to the ceiling of “I am not equipped for this!”. Granted, this is followed by half an hour in the pool – the best invention ever to ease the discomfort of being large and wearing tight clothing. Now… If i can just work out how to be in a pool constantly for the next 14 weeks.
Pregnancy fashion is a mission. I’m a girl who still wants to look decent. I want a good-fitting bra that is still pretty (no, I don’t want to have to wear a nursing, non-underwire beige bra thanks). I want a pair of knickers that don’t cut into my hips (you think I’m kidding, I’m cutting off circulation with all my existing pairs) and I want to look fashionable while I grow this human.
But apparently in South Africa, I must be the only woman that feels this way as retailers just fail to offer beautiful fashion, in bump mode. Suddenly everything is dowdy, its soft stretchy fabrics and ‘basics’.
After my fashion director said ‘its about the accessories’, and quickly avoided the subject of assisting me with my fashion crisis, I’ve taken to pinterest. What I discovered wasn’t life-changing, but it did indicate that being pregnant in winter is a whole lot more easy on your clothing imagination than if you’re pregnant in summer.
In winter, you have leggings, boots and blanket wraps. You have JEANS.
In summer… you have…. a lot of being hot.
I’ve never been one to wish away Summer. In fact I’ve always been the opposite, wishing the whole year could be dedicated to shorts, sandals and dresses! I have more than once whined to Hawk about trying to design a life that means 8 months in SA and 4 months abroad to avoid the dreaded winter. But suddenly, I’m craving the winter. An increased body temperature plus having NOTHING to wear will do that to you.