Apparently, I'm walking a fine line these days between "Why, I can hardly tell you're pregnant - you look great!" and "Good heavens, you'll never make it to your due date!"
For instance, as I walked into my office building this morning, a girl from one of the other businesses came bursting out of her door because she "just had know" who does my hair!
My hairstylist truly is a genius, and I love my current "do" (please don't judge it based on the picture I uploaded in my last post. The temperatures that day were well over 100 degrees, not to mention the humidity. I'm pretty sure that Marie would not admit to having come anywhere near that frizzy mop). A good hair cut/color just does wonders for my self-esteem, although I regret how important that kind of thing truly is to me.
So, I happily handed over a business card and proceeded up the elevator with a fresh bounce in my step and some extra padding in my ego.
About an hour later, a friend from another office in our building walked over to say hello. She gave me a once-over and made the following observations:
"You look very pregnant today.
And you look like you feel very pregnant today."
Perhaps she didn't notice what a great hair day I was having?? I began to point it out to her when I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the many mirrors adorning our office walls.
At 9am, my messy, tousled, still-wet hair had a funky, spunky edge to it. But by 10am, it had dried into a limp, flat, and pitifully shapeless mess.
The fresh-faced "minimal" make-up look I'd attempted earlier...let's just say that it was no match for the black circles that framed my puffy eyes.
I don't know if looking pregnant=looking like you've been hit by a truck, but I do know that my inflated ego of the early morning was quickly put back into it's proper place.
In a few months, when this belly swells a bit more, I can only imagine that it'll be hard to even see which side of the fine fashion line I'm walking on anyway.
Just please, somebody, make sure that my shoes match.