It was the topic of one post in the blog I maintained through my son’s pregnancy (https://apprehensivelyexpecting.wordpress.com/), but when it’s my second pregnancy and I manage to sift through Old Navy’s seizure inducing maternity clothes section, I’ve earned the right to extensively gripe anew.
The issue isn’t really Old Navy, or should I say just Old Navy? Maternity clothes shopping ranks up there in heinous acts with being forced to sit on a stalled and crowded subway car next to an exceedingly hairy man with a sweat gland issue after having run an ultra marathon in Texas mid August. If I’m late for a snack, you’d better add said man on a subway eating a vat of sauerkraut humming the most horrible Spice Girls song you can conceive…I cannot think of a title, as I’ve suppressed every memory concerning their music. If you think I’m exaggerating, go out and find a pregnant woman who abandoned all hope of fitting into her largest fat pants, resigned to maternity garb. She will concur it is a truly wretched experience.
When I’m not hormonal, I have the confidence wherewithal to acknowledge a bad shirt does not label me as any mammal one would find partially submerged in a temporary watering hole in the Serengeti. But, nurturing a tenet prompts one to weeping for twenty minutes in the dressing room, fearing someone will enter at any point confusing you with a large amorphous blob that someone let out of a local government research lab.
But, have no fear for my mental state because within minutes that mood passes, and I’m back to confused rage at the design personnel responsible for maternity lines. I can’t imagine what Heidi Klum reality show reject merited a spot on one of these teams. To top off the insult of horrible style and fit selections, women are blessed with exorbitantly expensive price tags for the privilege of taking part of the most comprehensive and long standing practical joke the world has ever seen.
A mild indication of the absurdity of this type of clothing is glancing through Gap’s online selection. While I give the company tremendous credit for using real pregnant women to model their clothing (Don’t balk, I’ve seen many truly twiggy models with concave breast cavities demonstrating the latest bun-in-the-oven styles.), it takes a special selection that looks like absolute garbage on the people who are supposed to sport it best. I mean, c’mon, Photoshop, airbrushing, or some other marvel of technology wasn’t available for the cause…ever? I know that the customer is supposed to notice the clothing first, but at some point these women just look like shit.
I remember well the experience while pregnant with my son, which is why I usually shop for my maternity apparel online for the opportunity to enjoy good lighting and my favorite mirror, lessening the sting of auditioning clothing styles that seem to miss the boat that most women prefer clothing that make them feel good about themselves.
But, today, I required the store for a quick and cheap turn around. With an almost nineteen-month-old Little Man in the picture, my clothing can rarely be reworn a second, much less third time, as they are immediately soiled with saliva, fecal matter, or some other mysterious substance I’ve long since stopped trying to identify. Consequently, I realized that a couple extra pairs of jeans heading into winter would be a smart idea. Given I’m not in need of anything else, the best financial option would be to brave the store in hope that they might have something returned from an online purchase, and, therefore, reduced considerably. Even though I know the entire section is in complete disarray, which is a tremendous understatement, but a sufficient description may very well fail the English language, a good deal is a good deal and worth the aneurysm the experience will likely provide.
At the end of the day I found three candidates I will summon the courage to try on at some point in the near future, but I think it is best to do so on a full stomach and without a migraine.