It seems to be a fit punishment for someone who blogged so recently about elegance, really. A reminder that one must always watch ones words.
I have been determined to go through this pregnancy elegantly. Oh, I knew I would grow bigger, and that my movements might become less graceful. I didn't expect to look like Audrey Hepburn during my seventh month of pregnancy, but I did what I could, trying to dress my hair, refuse to buy maternity clothes that made me look like a shapelessly beached whale, or that had unflattering patterns on it. It's rare for me in general to like a flower pattern, but certainly not now when it might make me look like an overstuffed carpet bag.
I must admit that I felt quite pleased about the way I went through the pregnancy once I was past the first trimester. And of course everyone keeps telling me that in the last trimester, and in the heat of South Carolina, comfort must come before style and elegance, but I have never seen why it should be an either/ or thing.
Unfortunately my feet have decided differently. I have tiny feet. A childrens' size four, a ladies size six, but usually a wide. With the pregnancy my feet have become wider, and wider and wider, until they now don't even fit in a wide size seven. Even man's sandals don't fit. The only thing that I can actually wear are .... *sighs* Flip flops and crocs. Yes, those ungainly plastic shoes that look like Dutch wooden shoes made over in plastic. My vanity is deeply wounded but at the moment, I am barely able to wrestle my feet into any other type of shoes, let alone stay in there for more than an hour. I am eagerly looking out for some double wide mary janes, pumps or anything else though. For now however, I must clog along. So if you happen to be in South Carolina and see a very pregnant woman in a nice summerdress with plastic clogs on, give me a little wave?