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Whore Clothes Make Great Maternity Clothes

I’m 12 weeks 3 days now.  Finally, I am starting to have more energy, although last night I did crawl into bed around 8 pm, but that was mostly because I was bored and it was a little cold in my warehouse.  I am no longer taking a nap around 4 in the afternoon till around 10 at night and then going back to sleep around midnight till 5:30 am.  I guess that is progress. I’ve spent the last few days going through my wardrobe to see what I will be able to wear for the next few months. Luckily, most of my clothes involve Lycra so they can do double duty, for a little while at least. Also, I’m really glad almost everything in my closet is black. I have had to make some dresses into shirts and I ,for sure, must wear tights or at very least fishnets with all of my skirts, but hey, it’s winter anyways.  My incredible increase in size seems to have settled down a bit.  I had gained 12 lbs by the time I was 11 weeks.  I was a little underweight, I suppose. For Los Angeles, I was the acceptable weight for a girl about town, but my mother insists I had no body fat.  I have twice assured here that I did, in fact, have some body fat; even enough body fat, as clearly I was still menstruating. Was.  I’m not anymore, obviously.  After dealing with nearly monthly cycles for 20 years, it is kinda pleasant. Alas, that is neither here nor there, on with the post.

I have been holed up in my room for the last month or more.  I don’t feel weird about being out or anything like that, I’m  just tired.  But, I had a birthday party to go to at a fancy lounge above Besso Tuesday night and I didn’t want to miss it.  I had announced my case of the babies to my little facebook world Sunday and some people were at least curious to see what had become of me. Like when you slow down for an accident. I had 7 pm dinner reservations, and it would take me 30 minutes to get from downtown to Larchmont at that hour (if I were lucky, but I always count on luck to move traffic along for me, which may be why I’m always late for things.) Normally, it takes me 45 minutes to get ready but I hadn’t done the whole make-up and hair thing in at least a month so I gave myself a little more time to do it. I had a new pair of lashes to size and put on as well and even when I am current with my make-up routine, that still takes some time.  I added an extra half an hour. I found a dress that was a bit too big when I bought it and was fitted, sort of. It was a little more fitted on the butt than I would have liked but it had an empire waist and was comfortable enough.  It would do.  My boobs were a little big for it, but they were not smooshed like Elizabeth Hurley likes to do, so I went with it.  No one will complain that my boobs look too big.  Not in my crowd. I found a pair of fishnets that were not “ruined” and then slapped on a pair of heels.  It was okay.  I looked good. I looked pregnant, but good. After fussing with my hair, who’s cut I still am not sure about, I was out the door. It was 20 till 7.  So much for the extra time I budgeted.

Dinner at Girasole was excellent.  It was a whole lot less boozy than dinner with my girlfriends normally is, but it was still fun.  Because I’m following the Weston Price Foundation diet for pregnant and nursing women, I got the pasta with clams. Pasta doesn’t really fit, but at least it was made in house, but the clams do and it was loaded with them.   I wish I had known the chef loved garlic so much before I ordered that though. That turned out to be a problem later. After a leisurely  dinner filled with talk of babies and stretch marks and speculums, I bid Sharon adieu and headed to the party.

I got there early, of course.  Ten on the nose.  The birthday girl was happy some people showed up at the beginning. I was happy to get a chance to chat with her early on, so she would remember it and I would be able to slip out after a reasonable amount of time. Because of the garlic, I would be leaving much earlier than I had thought I would.  As the lounge filled, I was having a hard time finding a discrete place to blow my garlic burps so as not to offend anyone’s olfactory nerves.  It was killing me.  By 11, I was yawing and starting to get a headache.  My friend was being annoyed by some man who smelled like tempera paint and modeling clay and was wearing payless shoes and a poorly fitted suit. He was clearly snorting the good stuff and not sharing with my friend, although she didn’t ask.  Probably a good thing.  She had to work in the morning.  After 11.30, we were able to find everyone knew and say goodnight.  We were in the car by quarter till and I was home by midnight.

Going out without drinking is nothing new to me.  When I had a shoot, I wouldn’t drink a drop for two weeks before and my social calendar never lets up so I had to go out anyways. I would just order water with lots of lemon or lime and call it good.  It was new to me to be leaving the party before midnight though. I’m not sure how I feel about it.  I guess it’s being responsible.  I guess it’s being a mom and having someone else to think about. It’s not though as much as I would like to think it was something reasonable like that. I was because I had a headache and because I wanted to go home and take those fishnets off and let my belly expand and burp in peace.


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