I’ve done this before.  It shouldn’t come as such a shock.  Repeating this fact isn’t helping.  The striped waistband of my maternity pajama bottoms curve down over my miniscule belly bulge.  To an onlooker I’m just a little out of shape.  To me I’m the Titantic.  My polo shirt slips up over the waistband, revealing stripes only in the center, only where the extra mass pulls it down.

Pajama pants and sweat capris are in my daily wardrobe now.  The days I’m brave enough to slip into a pair of jeans is a day where my relief is in unbuttoning them, and where my embarrassment is when I find them still unbuttoned in public.  Still my step mother does not fail at every visit to ask if I’m sure I haven’t lost weight.  The temptation to meltdown in exclamations of “Isn’t it obvious?” or “Are you blind?” are not easy to withstand.  I manage without incident.

I tuck the seam of my polo low over the waistband.  The center shrinks back up over the striped waistband.  This is going to be a long six months.