I was lamenting last week in my blog about wearing dresses. Apparently, I was complaining at work, too (that’s the sort of sunny personality I have), because one of my coworkers decided to shut me up—er, help me out.
After listening to me grumble for the thirtieth time in one hour about not having pockets (I mean, sure, I used my bra instead to hold my phone, keys, and Kleenex, but it’s not the same), one of the ladies—newly returned from having a baby over the winter—surprised me with a pair of maternity pants.
I have never been pregnant. In my younger years, I might’ve scoffed at the idea of wearing trousers that are essentially black elastic from nipple to butt crack, then transition to normal-looking dress slacks from hip to ankle. But in case I haven’t made it clear, I’d had it.
“You’ll feel like your derriere is hanging out,” she warned me. I didn’t care. I was tired of shaving and moisturizing my legs. “And I can’t promise the elastic won’t chafe your neckline” (these are high pants, folks). I glanced down at my calves, the one patch of stubble I’d missed with the razor blowing in the breeze created by the space heater under my desk.
“You might be my new best friend,” I replied, and brought home the maternity pants with a new bounce in my step.
I couldn’t wait to try them. I yanked off my sundress (entirely inappropriate for Monday, with its thunderstorms and a high of forty-eight degrees, and thank you so much for that, New England) in the kitchen. I pulled on the slacks and took a deep breath.
They were the most comfortable pants I’d ever worn in my life.
I was a mix of emotion: tears of relief pricked my eyes at the coziness I was feeling as the elastic cradled my healing incisions; a surge of anger coursed through my veins as I realized that by not having children, I’d denied myself the luxury of maternity pants for over four decades. I never wanted to take them off again.
“I see you’re in the pants!” My coworker said the next morning. “How’re they working out?”
“Shhh,” I said, holding up a finger, my ear to the phone. “I’m calling my old best friend right now to fire them as a bestie. Also, I think we’re now at a point in our relationship when I can honestly admit I love you.”
“I might have more,” she said. “Want me to look?”
Angels. I work with angels.
Don't judge me. These things are fabulous.
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