A fashion intervention

My friends at work have been incredibly supportive during my pregnancy. That is, until yesterday, when they insisted that I end the charade and just let it all hang out.

By "it", I mean my growing paunch. My Buddha belly. My munchkin's home for the next 5 months. For the first few months of my pregnancy, my fashion choices were motivated by a desire to hide the massive form. Compress it. Draw the eye away from the one thing on my body that no one can miss.

I attempted this impossible feat by way of the following sins:

1. Overusing my Bella Band: Although meant to help a woman transition from regular to maternity clothes, I kept wearing it in the land of panel-front pants. I felt like the snazzy girdle held me in. Turns out it just pushed fat up and over.

2. Embracing the layered look: If my Bella Band could hold in my gut, I hoped that more stretchy layers would do more of the same. Yesterday, for example, I enhanced my ensemble with support tights and one of those tanks that smoothes out the muffin top. Apparently the effect was less smooth and more sausage casing. I heard something about "skin on a weiner" before tuning it all out.

3. Banishing colour: If black is slimming, then wearing black from head to toe might mask my blossoming bosums and soon to be swelling ankles. Or so I thought. When I sported a black high neck pullover and long black skirt yesterday, my colleagues wondered when I had taken to burkas. Failing to accessorize adequately made this ensemble an HR violation...or at least inspired one of our HR gurus to lend me a necklace.

Today I decided to let it all hang out and hope that a cream and black scarf could lift my black/charcoal grey outfit to new heights. With some luck, perhaps my breasts will get some lift as well.