the 90th minute

Until September 2007, when my oldest daughter was born, this blog covered daily life and politics in Israel, as well as Hebrew-English linguistic issues, from the perspective of an American-raised journalist and translator living in Israel. Now it mostly serves as the SmunchMonk&Bear news agency, a portal into the bizarre universe of the little people. Read more at:

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not after you

It seems like my attempt last year at doing an end run around the maternity clothing scam (er, industry) has backfired. At the time, I thought I was getting away with not buying a whole new wardrobe because I already had a lot of loose summer clothing that could fit my expanding belly. A year later, I look at my closet and all I see are what now look to me like maternity clothes.

Now I am constantly paranoid (realistic?) about people making incorrect assumptions when they see me in the same loose tops that I bought in regular people stores and that, in some cases, I had worn for years beforehand, but that they may remember as having housed a larger me this time last year - or that just look like pretty much anything could be hiding in there.

I am usually a privacy fanatic who has difficulty understanding women (and sometimes men) who feel compelled to share all around the dinner table, but lately I have wanted to wear a sign around my neck saying, "This isn't maternity clothing! I bought it in a regular store, I swear!"

I supposed if I had washboard abs I could start showing them off, but I never have and I have no reason to believe I ever will, so that's not really an option.

Every time I listen to the part of me that says it's dumb to obsess about this and I should just wear whatever's in my closet and to hell with what people may or may not think, I end up imagining/seeing seemingly knowing or wondering looks or hearing comments that just may be overly solicitous.

So what's a girl to do? Maybe I should just stay home and crank up the A/C. (But wait, I did that when I was nine months pregnant! Oy vey, can't win...)


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