Perhaps Honesty Is Overrated

I finally broke down and visited a maternity store to try on a few things yesterday. Given that I am pregnant with my fourth and final, I had not been real thrilled with the idea of spending money on more maternity clothes to wear them for only a couple months. However, given the predictable self-esteem dip that has accompanied my morphing body, I finally admitted that my commitment to NO new clothes was not sustainable. New clothes have a way of giving me that little bounce to my step that has begun to feel conspicuously absent. I hit up the local mall with my two daughters in tow. Somewhere in the process of trying things on (in the presence of my two-member peanut gallery) my older daughter, full of snickers, remarked, “Whoa, Mom! I definitely don’t like those pants. You look like an umpa lumpa!” Entertaining her sister with this comment, they both proceeded to giggle uncontrollably. I swallowed the lump in my throat, took a deep breath, and rest assured that it was clearly not an ill-intended statement. Meanwhile, my daughter continued to proceed with her fashion advise providing commentary about how she really liked the purple shirt and the cream-colored skirt, but “definitely not those pants!! The waist is too high and they fit waaay too funny.” A few minutes later, as I am wrapping up our thrilling time in the dressing room, my other daughter exclaims, “Mom, why do you keep putting those ugly pants back on?” At which point, I had to confess, “Honey, these are the pants that I came in.”