You have served me well – much longer than I thought you would possibly be able to.
Somehow, with your certainly-miraculous stretchiness and the help of many tortured waistline-expanding rubber bands (most who lost their lives in the line of duty), I have been able to enjoy your comfort up to this 30 week point in my pregnancy.
In fact, you’ve been kinda like my security blanket. My one spot of normalness amidst the complete hijacking of my body.
However, I think our blissful time together may have come to an end.
And I promise – it’s not you – it’s most definitely me.
Or, more accurately, my hips.
It seems that this week’s two pound gain went completely and totally into my hips (I suppose my “Birthing Hips” arrived, although they were QUITE sufficient for that before), and even though you, in your surpassing mercy and compassion, are still willing to be stretched over their growing mass (with the help of a shoehorn, a sturdy pair of pliers, and possibly a crane), I am just too afraid that I might eventually cause you to finally let go and completely explode into a pile of threads (something I know you’ve been considering), and therefore not have you around to comfort me after the emotional nuclear bomb that is giving birth.
And so, if I can manage to wean myself from your cozy home (I might need that crane to do so), it’s time to let you vacation from the strains and stretches of being distended over my increasingly unwieldy hips.
And, as much as it makes me cringe, your replacement will have to be these:
…which aren’t too much of a fan of my hips either, and still refuse to stay up because they have no waistband to keep them in place, and so I am forced to walk around all day, hitching up my pants quite ungracefully, all while trying to smooth out that supposedly glorious “Secret Fit Belly” without pulling my shirt up to my bra to accomplish that nearly-impossible feat.
I will miss you deeply, my wonderful, wonderful jeans with your excellent, staying-up-powered waistbands.
…and Noah better send me flowers for this sacrifice one day.
The Possibly-Neurotic-Because-She’s-Writing-Letters-To-Her-Jeans Pregnant Woman.