Windfall

My parents, being ever kind and giving, presented me with what every 20 something really needs/wants for her birthday- a fat wad of money. I think my mother had hoped I'd go buy some nice maternity clothes a la high waisted khaki shorts and matching patchwork vest, or perhaps get a normal haircut and otherwise nurture my maternal side. Yeah... that didn't really happen.

While I have spent a bit of the windfall on new (non maternity) clothing with high stretch properties and the ability to cover both my ginormous boobs and now growing baby bump, I've been saving most of it for when I cave and buy my first pair of genuine big booty britches. Of course, that's not where the money's going to go. No matter how much my mother assures me that her coworkers found some very cute work clothing at Mimi Maternity I have yet to find a stitch of suitable clothing. Yes, I am picky. Always have been. But it's why my clothing has an average track record of 5 years. I'd still be wearing that navy Benetton T if my mom hadn't seized it and made it into a rag after a mere 8 years of wear.

Maternity shops give me a rash. The last time I dared set foot in one to return some well meaning but completely inappropriate khaki shorts I practically had to wave my ultrasound pics around to get any service. No, I'm not shopping for a friend. No, I don't know her due date- I just want to get rid of the shorts. No, I don't know her size, do you have anything in not floral? At the end I left with a shoddily manufactured green polo and the same horrid khakis I had laboured so long to be rid of. Obviously maternity shops employ only the slow and crack smoking. Furthermore, no maternity shop seems to have the good sense to stock any sort of club clothes to speak of.

I know, I know. Pregnant women aren't supposed to be drinking. Producing clothing suitable for being surrounded by drunks would only encourage inappropriate behavior. Besides, what woman in her right mind would volunteer to be surrounded by scantily clad, svelte, skinny ankled, 21 year olds when they feel like a beached whale? Me, that's who. Club work is how I make my scratch and I'll be damned if I have to spend the next 6 months working it in a pink floral mu mu. No, I'm not exploiting myself. I know that dressing appropriately for work is important, and I have the suits to prove it. I make tips either because I played something someone wanted or because they are too stupid to notice that the other DJ is my husband. While reading a crowd and having a plethora of music at hand is key to my success as a DJ, being cute never hurt.

I plan on sewing and knitting a lot these next few months. Plus I'm sure once August hits Gap maternity will finally roll out something other than bubble gum pink terry capri's and coffee colored evening dresses. Until then I'll continue scrounging thrift stores for stretchy tank dresses, mu mus, and non-repulsive orthopedic shoes. It's either that or re-expose myself to the exclamations of, "Oooh! You got faaaaat!" and "Honey, they don't make minis big enough for that caboose." from the homosexual shop owner downtown.

Like a slow movie goer watching Ocean's 11 you may now be asking yourself, "so what happened to the money?" Well most of it is still sitting in the bank, but a great deal of it got blown on the one thing not subject to the whims of my pregnancy: my bike. I bought it nine months ago and proceeded to ride it into the ground. Unfortunately I never had the cash to up grade the less then ideal fresh from the factory components such as the cheep, they'll-crash-it-test-riding-anyway plastic pedals, and the man-hand sized break levers. New handlebar tape, hot pink break line, and fresh breaks could wait a few months, but I figured now that I'm with child it's time I took responsibility for my safety and invest in some brakes I can reach when bombing down hills at 40 MPH. Someone should give me the freaking mother of the year award.