humiliating dressing room experience

I write this post at the risk of sharing TMI, but 99.99% of you are women (I think, minus those of you who choose to share my humiliating stories with your husbands), so I'll go ahead and share WITH THE DISCLAIMER THAT IF YOU ARE MY BROTHER OR MY BROTHER-IN-LAW OR FATHER OR FATHER-IN-LAW OR ANYONE MALE who is also RELATED TO ME, then you might not want to read...

I don't understand why it is necessary that a certain part of my body be "prepared" for nursing a child five months before that child will ever enter the world, but I am not The Creator.  So.  As you may or may not know, when you get pregnant, your belly is not the only thing that grows.

As a result of this, I have paid a visit to the department store to be fitted for a new brassiere.  (I probably wore the wrong size throughout my entire last pregnancy, so I decided it was worth the investment to get some new stuff...)  The first visit I made to the dept. store was in my first trimester, and I was pretty much between two cup sizes (TMI?), so I played it safe and chose the larger size.

Except, just as as your belly keeps growing and growing and growing... so do the other things. Now, I really shouldn't get into these details, but I'm not one of those girls who enjoys this new voluptuousness during pregnancy.  I'm plenty big BEFORE having to be anatomically prepared to feed a child (Definitely TMI).  Like I said, I am not The Creator.

Anyway.  My body is doing such a great job preparing for this child to be nourished, and as a result, I found myself at Nordstrom Rack (no pun intended - hahaha) today to try to get YET ANOTHER, BIGGER BRASSIERE.  I didn't think I needed to be re-fitted, since I did that like a month ago - surely I could just estimate. So... I head to the sizes that, to be honest, I once thought were only reserved for women over the age of 60.  The sizes that you pass in the store and think to yourself, "WHO WEARS SOMETHING THAT HUGE?"  Apparently, I do.

Here's the problem, though.  After searching through the inventory, I found myself with three, huge, potential bras in my hand.  I also found myself completely across the store from the dressing rooms.  These bras cannot be hidden... I considered picking up some clothing to hide them behind, and now that I'm thinking about it I should have done that...  but anyway.

So after I took the walk of shame across the store, I (FINALLY!) ended up at the dressing room where I think I am safe.  Here, I am supposed to tell the attendant how many items I have.  (Or, more idealistically, the dressing room attendant is supposed to carefully survey the number of pieces I am carrying.) Well when I got in line in the front of the dressing room, I noticed that the attendant was a GUY, and he was probably about 24 years old.  Lovely.

Don't worry.  He saw me coming.   He did not make eye contact with my "clothing." And he definitely did not try to verify that I was telling the truth about how many items I had. "Three please," I muttered, as I stared at the floor.  After none of the brassieres fit correctly, I DEFINITELY did NOT return them to the attendant, but shamefully walked back across the store to hang them back up myself.

And he definitely did not ask, "How did those work for you?"

In an ideal world I would have left the store immediately, but I had to face the guy again while I was waiting for Matt to finish trying on jeans.  Lovely Saturday.