It’s gonna get girly
I told a friend of mine, whom I’ve known for almost 15 years, the other day over a series of facebook messages back and forth, which originally started as a rant about drummers. He’s a newish dad (and veteran drummer), courtesy of his soon-to-be ex-wife whose biological clock was ticking out of control a couple of years ago, which led to his son who was born almost a year ago. He spent this last year talking to me about how having a kid was all her idea, and how he hoped when his son was born, a magical dad-switch would come on, and he would feel differently. Nowadays, he’s moved out, signed papers, seeing someone new, though is very much in love with his son, a potential future drummer. I wondered when I told him if he would see me as another baby-hungry ticking vagina. To my delightful surprise, though no congratulations, he seemed okay with the prospect, and gave me some words of wisdom: That I was “hosed” if I had to nurse (moreso than my wife) and to warn me that “it’s gonna get girly.” I assured him that our decision to do this after living in a new town for only a year was for the best, as we haven’t grown close enough to anyone local who would realize how preposterous me in pregnancy jeans is.
I don’t think I’m prepared for the girly, and being a sizable girl to begin with, some preliminary search of clothes has left me just shy of panic-land. Plus sized + maternity, minus huge scooping necklines, cardigans, swishy fabrics, clingy fabrics, 3/4 length sleeves, short-short sleeves with a slice of the fabric down the middle, bright colors, black pants = not a whole lot leftover. Yep, it’s gonna get girly.