|NOTE: This image marginally fits the post. But how could I resist?|
The low point in my pregnancy was when I would sit alone in front of the television each night at 3AM and watch late night poker, because nothing better was on and I had nothing better to do. Insomnia set in during my third trimester, at which time my nose decided to shut down operation between the hours of Midnight and 6AM. The instant I feel asleep, I would wake up with the sensation of being suffocated. I also felt like an invertebrate. An overabundance of the pregnancy hormone Relaxin made my body conform to whatever surface I was lying on, rendering sleep extremely uncomfortable.
Thinking back on it now, there isn't much about pregnancy that I would care to retain -- not the sleeplessness, nor the forty pound weight gain that went entirely to my backside, nor the ill-fitting, over-priced, and unfashionable clothes.
Don't get me wrong, I loved feeling Claire grow in my body and getting to the other side of pregnancy. I would endure such suffering again in a heartbeat to have her. But when I hear someone say, "I just loved being pregnant", I want to punch them in the face (apologies ahead of time if you are one of these women).
One remnant of pregnancy remains, however. My choice in underwear. I was ignorant of the splendor of granny panties before I was pregnant. Now, I can't ever imagine abandoning their comfort. Sure, Natori, Victoria Secret and the occasional La Perla have a place in my underwear drawer. But they sit at the back of the drawer neglected. Really, I contemplate going back to them, breaking my new habit. But who knew large swaths of cotton fabric could be too comfortable to give up?
I feel a little funny picking up a pack at Walmart. I mean, come on, a pack? Men's underwear come in a pack, not a lady's lingerie. Even the brand names aren't sexy for women. Hanes and Fruit of the Loom scream out man shorts and tighty whities to me. They're even called "briefs" to add insult to injury!
But by the time I get to the register, I want to tell the checkout lady or anyone who will listen that there's no reason to be ashamed of feeling comfortable. After all, I wouldn't endure the pain of a brazilian wax in the name of sexiness. Why should my philosophy about undergarments be any different? Plus, I sacrificed enough comfort during pregnancy and labor to earn the right to wear whatever the hell underwear I want!
On the home front, I feel a little less sure of myself. I haven't been able to bring myself to ask my husband what he thinks of this turn of events. I'd love to think that he'd tell me he finds me sexy in a potato sack (I mean my man looks pretty hot in long underwear, to my eye). Unfortunately, even if he did give me a compelling argument about why I should bring sexy back, I doubt I'd listen to him.
To repeat, granny panties are just too comfortable to give up.