Dread

You know what's the worst feeling in the world? Waking up with a sense of dread. What is it I dread? I wish it were something deep, or meaningful at least. Like, I dread facing the sin of this world. Or maybe I dread not living up to my potential as a wife and mother. Unfortunately, it is neither deep nor meaningful. I simply dread wearing maternity clothes.

Obviously, it should not be that big of a deal. Whatever - it's only a few months and no one really cares what I look like anyway. But seriously, for some reason, I just hate maternity clothes. I hate wearing them, I hate thinking about them, I even hate shopping for them. Why? Not sure. Maybe it's because I don't have that much summer-y stuff so I'm limited to the same 4 outifts that I rotate (which, in turn, makes me do laundry more often, which I REALLY dread). Maybe it's because I'm all depressed that my butt has doubled in size and stretched out all my pants. Maybe it's a bit of anxiety about what the maternity clothes represent - three kids, three and under, by 30.

Also, wearing maternity clothes makes you look more pregnant. For some reason, when you LOOK pregnant, people find it necessary to touch your stomach. Why? Not sure, but since I started wearing maternity clothes full time this week, a whole lot of people have been touching my stomach. OK. That's all I have to say about that. I hate wearing maternity clothes.

I'm more than halfway through now, according to my ticker. Craziness.