Getting Warmer

In the winter, when people asked me when my due date was, a common response was, "well that's good, you don't have to suffer through most of the summer heat while you're pregnant." They had a point, but I wanted to argue that being pregnant in the winter was no treat, either. I couldn't zip up my jacket, and the cold air made me gag and wretch every time I exited my car.

The jacket thing became less of a problem though as I turned into my own personal heating system. I don't think I've won a jacket since March, which is close to the time I stopped wearing long sleeves. Being toasty is a new thing for me; I've always been notoriously cold with poor circulation. But in the latter part of the winter, my husband suffered as I blasted the AC in the car and he shivered under several layers.

I've been lucky that the last mountain of maternity clothes I purchased has lasted me this long. I've grown, but I still have a little give to most of my wardrobe. It occurred to me last week though, as I was getting just a bit tired of the same rotation of outfits, that I haven't been creative enough to discover all of the options in my closet that just might work. I have sundresses, for example, from my trips to Hawaii, that are flowing and stretchy. "I wonder," I mumbled as I foraged through my closet. I found my sundresses in a bin of swimwear (most of which, obviously, has gone untouched. I'm not one of those preggos who are confident enough in their fertile look to don a bikini.)

To my delight, they fit. And they were comfortable. And cool. Michael looked at me and said, "awwww, you're my little Island Girl...my little Island Girl that I got into trouble!"

I repeated this comment to my parents. My mom unsuccessfully tried to suppress a giggle into her hands, but my Dad did not find this funny. He narrowed his eyes and stared very seriously at me. "Come on, Dad," I said. "It's funny." He narrowed his eyes even more, and just as I thought he might cave and let out a chuckle, he said instead, "nobody gets my little girl in trouble."

"Oh, Dad," I said with a bit of an eye-roll. But it occurred to me that if we have a little girl someday, in 20-30 years, Michael will be saying the very same thing.