Today, she talked about breastfeeding in public, and how she moved from self-consciousness to devil-may-care. I found myself irritated recently when I complained about people squeaminsh about public breastfeeding, and found even more squeamish people in my company. I asked (knowing that one of them had "danced" with her breasts out professionally) if they were also uncomfortable on topless beaches, and they said that no, it was all about context.
Blurg. What better context? Granted, the story I was relating was about a woman who sort of absent-mindedly had her breast out for a while (like, a minute) before getting it into her baby's mouth. But for shit's sake, she was probably sleep-deprived and... whatever. I get really irritated, big surprise. Mary Wang seems more sangine across the board. Her baby's named Scarlet. I love her.
And whom do I hate? Old Navy Maternity, that's whom. All I want is jeans. Jeans I can wear without feeling like a mummy-mommy. I tried XL, then L, then M, and they had no S jeans -- I was swimming in all of them. And I am not petite, people. I think they just equate pregnant with fat and leave it at that. I need something that fits in the butt and thighs but leaves room in the belly -- is that so hard to figure out? Uch, I must have lugged two dozen pairs of jeans down to the dressing room (not even on the same FLOOR) and my head was spinning by the time I was done. All for nada. And when I tried on their regular non-jean maternity pants, everything was too SMALL. So someone's hitting the glass pipe over at the gravy, and now I have no pants and am reduced to wearing a hippie skirt to work. Halp.
I did find a highly-recommended hypnotherapist, though. I seriously think this is what I need to get past my crankiness, worry, irritation, terror, worry, high blood pressure, worry, and worry. I'll go call her now.