Monday, May 12, 2008

No one else had my dress, bitches

Holy cats, it feels like it’s been raining for days. Alex has been on constant alert, waiting for even the most distant rumblings of thunder. These days the giant bathtub in our bathroom is his preferred hiding place, though the good old behind-the-toilet still works in a pinch (as long as I remember to move the toilet paper holder out of the way).

I am feeling much better and am truly Not Freaking Out over the calcification on the baby’s liver. Anymore, that is. Tuesday saw full Freak Out mode running late into the evening, with a calming period on Wednesday and Thursday. On Friday, an all-day wait to hear back from my midwife practice + denial of my lingering anxieties + horrific Friday afternoon traffic and an aching lower back + finally arriving home to find a bouquet of Happy First Mother’s Day! flowers from Mike sent me over the edge of all hormonal reason. Mike came back from walking the dog and found me in a puddle on the sofa, clutching my damp Mother’s Day card in my hand and sobbing as though I alone were responsible for maintaining the world’s supply of tears.

(my mood has been remarkably well-balanced throughout this pregnancy until this past week, when it suddenly sputtered, coughed, and plummeted to the ground in an eye-searing explosion of orange and red flames.)

At some point the tears stopped and I found I could breathe again. I felt cleansed and clear-headed. And so I went upstairs, washed my face, applied some concealer under my puffy eyes and got dressed up. It was time to attend a four-hour marathon of heavily perfumed bumping and grinding adolescent social anxiety.

Oh, yes. Prom time.

Mike and I had agreed to be chaperones several months ago, back when I was naïve and assumed that I’d still be able to fit into most of my dresses at this point. HA! Boy, I am funny. Even the dress that I’ve never worn that I bought on mega-sale even though it was way too big for me (I planned to get it altered, er, three years ago…) could not be convinced to mold to my new body. Actually, I blame the zipper, which remained stubbornly down, exposing my nursing bra and maternity thong.

Bringing sexy back, you could say.

Luckily I discovered this in advance and had time to buy an inexpensive Little Black Maternity Dress that worked just fine. I paired that with the shortest heels I own but still ended up going barefoot most of the night. (I never thought it would happen, but my love affair with heels is temporarily over.)

Mike and I were assigned a station in the main ballroom, since we are a “young, hip couple”. Oh, my. I can only assume they were comparing us to the 60-year old chemistry teacher and his wife?

Our mission was to prevent students from sneaking through a back exit. We positioned ourselves accordingly and tried to look menacing. “Don’t have sex with him in the limo tonight,” I warned several girls. “Look what happened to me. I’m wearing a MATERNITY THONG.”

They were appropriately horrified.

An hour into the bumping and grinding, I admitted to Mike that I had not yet recognized a single song. “When are they going to play Baby Got Back?” I asked. “When is he going to put on some popular stuff?”

He looked at me. “This is the popular stuff.”

Oh. Well, the baby seemed to like it. He was jumping all around, probably doing some dance that only the cool kids know how to do.

We really enjoyed being there, listening and watching and remembering our own high school days. The part we remembered most fondly?

Getting the hell out of there.

I encountered a girl sobbing in the bathroom while her outraged girlfriends clustered around her, proclaiming Tiffany a “stupid whore.” I saw the awkward boys, some looking miserable in their tuxedos, shooting nervous, sidelong glances at their dates. The girls, constantly reaching to smooth their hair, yank up their strapless dress tops, or check to make sure their bra straps weren’t showing. Everyone pulling out their cellphones at the first sign of conversational lull, texting their friends across the room. How many strove to be so adult, yet sabotaged their adultness with all the squealing and guffaws and bravado and drama.

And I wanted to hug them all and promise them that yes, you'll still cry and feel stupid sometimes and probably still get spinach stuck in your front teeth, but life gets so much better, maternity underwear and all.

Pinky swear.

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5 Comments:

Blogger Bearette24 said...

Maternity thong? Sisqo should write a song about that ;)

12:26 PM  
Blogger Caro said...

What a sweet hubby you have.

You and Justin, bringing sexy back together.

I didn't know they made maternity thongs. Talk about taking all the fun out of granny panties.

1:31 PM  
Blogger His suzy said...

You know, I didn't go to a single dance when I was in high school. And I've never regretted it. And I had a great time in high school! AND I wouldn't go back if you paid me to!! :)

I didn't know about maternity thongs either! Wow.

And good for Mike. Smart, sweet man. :)

6:15 PM  
Blogger Liz said...

It's true- maternity thongs exist! Quiet in the Stacks is proud to share this critical news with the blogosphere.

8:25 AM  
Blogger Liz said...

Suzy- I wouldn't say I had a great time in high school, but it wasn't terrible, either. It's just that everything that came after that seemed a million times better in comparison.

8:27 AM  

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