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.

Tags: having children, maternity, maternity clothes, motherhood, nancy carolyn kwant, parenting, pregnancy, raising a family