This week's checkup resulted in no additional developments in the labor department-- yes! So Friday I cheated on my modified bed rest (with the doctor's blessing, of course) and went to purchase the one item I'm still missing from my hospital bag: A maternity bra.
I am sensitive, literally and metaphorically, in this area. While there is a woman in her thirties in me that is so cheap I've bought only four pieces of new maternity wear (everything else has been from the second hand store), there is also a woman in her thirties that knows the two areas of her wardrobe where she cannot skimp: shoes and bras. Shoes I have covered, thanks to the geniuses at Dankso. Bras are another story.
If you are one of those girls who can go to Victoria's Secret and pick out a couple of T-shirt bras at two-for-$20, please stop reading now. I don't want to hear about how you can wear button down shirts and strapless dresses. I haven't been one of those girls since junior high, and pregnancy has only... compounded the issue.
On J's advice, I went to Nordstrom to be fitted. It was cute how the girl was concerned about me wanting my privacy. I snorted at her, referred to my nine-month preggo belly, and reminded her that a woman in her thirties who's going to give birth in a matter of weeks doesn't worry too much about modesty. She left the dressing room and came back with about six for me to try on.
The money I spent on two bras on Friday more than makes up for the money I've saved on other maternity wear. Seriously-- how does Elle Macpherson sleep at night? But I'll admit, when I'm not looking at the size of them and I'm not thinking about the money I spent on them, I'm pretty darn happy with my purchases. A woman in her thirties cannot put a price tag on comfort, and she certainly can't put a price tag on support. Feet, boobs, and otherwise.