Those aren't the breasts I married.

As I was getting ready for bed the other night I hear Spouse say "Huh...Well those aren't the breasts I married".

I rolled my eyes and put on my tank top (a sleepy tank I have been wearing for years and although in pregnancy it barely reaches what I have left of a belly button I refuse to part with).

"I know, they wont stop changing...I am outgrowing those last bras I got...I think I am an 'H' now..."

He says nothing and when I look over to him he is just sitting there glowing with a large amount of pride. A 3 years olds "I did this!!!!" sort of look.

Another eye roll.

I am glad he is proud I tell him, but its down right uncomfortable. Shirts don't fit me right, bras this size are expensive and hard to find plus there is always the sleeping issue. Sometimes I feel as if they are going to smother me. Towels and my bathrobe are useless. Between how much I have going on up front in combo with the belly I can no longer reach to upper shelves of anything. My feet are a long lost sight and shaving my legs is an ordeal. I fear what these mammoth things will do to our baby when I try and use them for what they are intended for.

They stress me out.

None of this phases him...he just looks incandescently happy.

Men.

I am nothing if not festive.

So umm...how should I say...

Yesterday, while in the process of trying to 'encourage labor' spouse removed my bra.

Quite an effort at this point I assure you.

He looked lovingly down at my uhh...'generous endowments'...and burst out laughing.

I have grown accustom to the shock and awe that comes across his face (as if a man's wealth was measured by the size of his wife's chest and he was Bill Gates) but this was a first.

Surprised and slightly offended I gasped, "What???"

He was barely able to blurt it out.

"There is food on your boob"

I looked down and there, perched on my cleavage...was a perfectly formed orange pumpkin sprinkle.

At least it was from that morning's donut.

It's just me....and the anatomy of maternity underwear.

Ok this is my first real blog of sorts. I have been plopped down all comfy over on the Myspace couch for sometime now. I have observed the blogosphere from a far but am yet to participate. This is quite inconvenient for BF (TransplantedKnitter) and therefore I am starting this here new blog.

At some point I will make it pretty. Promise.

A little background for new readers. I am 36 weeks pregnant with my first child. Spouse and I are transplants from NJ to the "Quiet Corner...or QC" of CT. Simply put...the part of CT where no one really seems to live and no one has ever heard of. Very rural and pretty neat! Some of the people in our birthing class don't even have computers and the closest mall is 45 minutes away in RI.

We have been here about 9 months. Only slightly longer then the babe (The Turkey...Spartacus/Spartacette, we are still working on names) has been in the womb.

See I meant it when I implied there was not a lot to do around here.

Many of my blogs center on the bathroom or bodily functions. I cant figure out why but they do. I guess I am just endlessly fascinated with the bathroom/body rituals of others...in my home and in public...and now that I am thinking about it butt humor is very popular in my house.

So on that note I was considering my underwear the other night. There was nothing much on TV and since (as a Yankee fan living in New England) I can not stomach the Red Sox winning the World Series my mind wandered. Well I can stomach it; it certainly doesn't make me happy but its not like the Eagles are in the Super Bowl...that would be terrible! (Terrible in perspective of course.) I really just have more of a whatever feeling about it all.

I get off track sometimes sorry. But I should have mentioned earlier that I have a sports mental illness. I am obsessed. We live and breath football in this house. In the mornings I put on ESPN...not the local news. While we do love baseball it is also just a nice way to pass the time between football seasons and it looses a lot of pull once the real games begin. (Oh and your team has been knocked out of the playoffs....again.)

I digress.

Underwear.

I would like to know why product inconsistency is allowed to such a degree for pregnant woman. "Buy the size you were" is very misleading. I find the exact same type and style undies by the same reseller in one color completely different from another color variety.

The blue ones fall apart, the pink are just right, the purple GINORMOUS and the neutrals are about 2 sizes too small. Are there no standards? I have worn the same size panties from Victoria's Secret for about 15 years. Same kind, same size and no matter what pretty, cute, darling, sexy, or plain color I got they always fit the same way. I am actually mourning my old underwear.

Is it because VS are a respectable and publicly acceptable brand while "Motherhood" simply implies "Grandma Pants"?? Who is going to say anything? No one wants to question their undie making ethic. They would have to admit they are wearing them.

Then there are bras....don't even get me started on the bras. I started out with a generous breast size I wont lie but even the "It's not natural and you can only buy boobs this big" sizes are too small for me. I measured like a good girl and ordered my new...ummm..."shoulder sacks" of the nursing variety. They were so ill fitting that I actually measured two more times and made a couple of phone calls thinking I must have made a mistake. After 5 separate attempts and UPS really wondering why JCPenny delivered to my home everyday I gave up. I ordered my "new size" of the non-nursing variety. Same maker, same bra. Perfect fit.

That is just wrong.

Are they trying to make crazy hormonal women second guess everything about their new bodies by starting at the very basics?

I can understand changes from brand to brand and style to style but from color to color or boob flap to non-boob flap? Is it just me?

Tell me please it's not, because at this point I am at my wits end. How exactly am I going to handle it "when my milk comes in"? I suspect desperation will lead me to resort to using any combination of common house hold items to support the bus tour (face it, we go beyond girls here..we are girls on tour!!!).

Hmmmm....Spouse does insist however that most problems can be solved with duct tape and a leatherman.

Come to think of it....it might not be such a bad idea. It would certainly save on shipping.