Are you comfortable naked? I am not. It doesn’t help that I’m expecting a baby and things explode. Quite literally exploding: feet, ankles, ass, boobs, neck, and ‘cute’ little baby bump, which is only cute because I cover it up. You see me naked and you will forever be changed.
Back in the day, women went into confinement when expecting. **inter-feminist groan** However, I totally get it: no one to see but servants, no corsets, no maternity undies. But no, we convinced the* angry white men to lift their knuckles off the ground and got all progressive. So now I tote my ever increasing buttocks and well educated mind to work each day.
*There are still a shocking number of cavemen with microphones today but that is off topic.
I walked into my kitchen the other morning in my bathrobe. It fell open. The morning was just waking up too, but I know I terrified that squirrel. And yes, I have curtains, I didn’t flash the neighbors, but it’s a bay window with only the lower half covered.
The most senior member of my family is a great-aunt who 95-ish. She is the definition of spinster: never married; no children; only lived in apartments and her retirement center; only ever had cats; and happy as a lark mind you. I mention her, because for her entire adult life, she has never NEVER never slept in anything but her altogether with a robe right next to the bed.
I’ve tried this when I was single and living alone; I’ve tried this when my husband was not there; I’ve tried this when he was there. I NEED TO BE COVERED. I can’t even go commando without feeling, well, naughty.
Enter my dilemma…maternity underwear….
You have 2 choices: under the belly, meaning things are flopping out or over the belly, meaning things are covered up to your nipples like an old man. Neither is comfortable. Neither is sexy. Neither is doable all times. So what’s an expanding woman to do?
Well sadly, you buy really really really big maternity underwear that stretches and breathes and moves (binding britches do not a happy ho-ho make). When you cannot sleep more than 3 hours because someone is punching your bladder to make her womb more comfy, you wake up, pee, and rip them off. By 3 am, you are so so so so tired from things flopping around, there is no time for naughtiness.
When women went into confinement, things were kept hush hush. No need to scare the men-folk. I am no longer allowed to hide, so BOO (and sorry squirrels); the truth about being pregnant shall be revealed.