The Adornment of Maternal Attire by Nancy Carolyn Kwant


You first became a part of my wardrobe when my structure stretched to accommodate your growing body.

I would shop at thrift stores for larger shirts and skirts not having the money to waste on a growth spurt that would only last for a couple of weeks.

I remember starting with one outfit in the morning and by noon, having to run to the second-hand maternity store to buy a bigger size.

No matter how much belly balm I rubbed in, a monkey scratch dance would alleviate my expanding skin only momentarily.

There is nothing sexy about compression socks not to mention the difficulty of trying to put them on with a burgeoning belly, orange dish gloves, and ole Portuguese lady swollen ankles.

In labor, the bandanna I fashioned to keep the hair out of my face eventually fell to the side as my head writhed deep into a pillow and my short brown locks twisted and knotted.

In between contractions, I slept and a brief look of peace would sweep my face.

An operating theatre of bright lights, blue masked strangers, a curtain hung between me and my belly, and my anticipated expression  of “girl” or “boy?”

When I finally embraced you, I shed my hospital johnny and your layers of blue and pink striped blankets and white pajama top.  Skin to skin I admired your soft pudgy rolls.  I inhaled the smell of your hair. I kissed you. I nursed you. I fell in love with you.

Breasts overflowing with milk found space in bras and tops with pads and flaps so I could give you easy access and calm your cries and hunger.

Now on the outside, I learned how to carry you with Mobies and Bjorns and Ergos and in my strong arms.

Who needs Dolce and Gabbana when my new accessory designers were Spit-Up and Snot or Pee and Poo with a hint Eau de Sour Milk.  All of which were very versatile and could be mixed and matched with any of my mothering ensembles.

As you grow, I carry you less, but your limbs still drape across mine when after bedtime stories, we fall asleep together, my glasses still perched on my nose.

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  1. 2 Responses to “The Adornment of Maternal Attire by Nancy Carolyn Kwant”

  2. She got me at “I fell in love with you.”

    By Klaas Kwant on Mar 29, 2019

  3. gorgeous love story
    :)

    By Carole on Mar 30, 2019

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