Ugh

We're going shopping today. We have to, we have no choice. Between the two of us we're a sad sight to see. My problem is pants. And shorts. And shirts, too. Dang, I'm a mess! I'm stuck between pregnancy wear and "I have nothing" wear. As I explained to my dear friend in an email last night, I just can't get my beloved Size 8's past my thighs. The old hip spreading rumor turns out to be true. That and the extra 20 pounds I haven't gotten rid of are making it impossible to get dressed. Some maternity pants are huge. Others are still snug around my thighs but gapping around the waist. My old shirts don't fit very well either since I've become generously endowed. I'm even wary of wearing some of them around the house. Since I'm returning to work soon I need something to wear other than my pajama bottoms or robes. SK is pretty liberal but not that much. Then we have my husband. He's running around the house in tshirts with more holes than should legally be allowed. His shoes are falling apart and squeak. His pants barely stay up and those that do have most of each leg torn away. And heaven forbid he should be out in public and sit down. John Q Public would be privy to more than they hoped for. My son, of course, is on the list with diapers and wipes. I am so thankful for all the donations that were given to us because this is just plain crazy. Can you believe we go through 56 diapers in 6 days? This kid is a peeing machine. And don't you dare let him sit around for more than a few seconds in a wet diaper; he's a prima donna when it comes to clean shorts. Can you blame him? Speaking of, he's peeking at me from behind one eye over there in his swing and grunting at full volume. He does the grunting as he drifts off to sleep and when he's waking up. Luckily for me it's drifting time.