Joining the New Club

10 weeks and counting- just 30 more to go- haha!  Baby H is either a prune or a kumquat today, is moving his or her arms, and is growing fingernails!!!  Already!  And also, "peach-fuzz hair (is) beginning to grow on tender skin" according to babycenter.com

As baby is growing, there haven't been too many changes in mom since last week.  However, I wanted to share a story about starting to come to terms with the "Life, As You Know It, Is Over" Phenomenon.

I should start with an introduction.  Of myself.  Most of you know me VERY well.  I also know myself very well.  Maybe you don't know how well I know myself, so I'm just gonna put this out there:  I like to look cute.  Probably waaaaay too much of my time, energy, thoughts, and funds (hello Target bill!) go towards that end.  Whether it be working my butt off (literally) at the gym, traveling to the city for expensive haircuts, or the Banana Republic fascination, you don't have to look too hard to mount evidence of the fact that- alright, I'll say it- I'm vain. 

So I'm sure you've know that all along, but now you know that I know it!  :)  And thus begins the story of me having to take my vanity and stuff it.

On Friday night, Ivan and I went to an amazing charity event.  We were invited in connection with his work, otherwise we never would have been able to afford such an extravagant evening.  The night began with me trying on several dresses then discarding them because either a.) my mid-section (which still just looks flabby, nothing like a baby bump- I can't wait for that!) didn't fit into the dress or b.) it showed so much of much acne-splattered chest or back that I was afraid someone would call the health department on me.  I settled on a dress I had bought last minute for a friend's wedding this summer- navy blue, stretchy, elegant, refined.  I felt pretty good in it.

That is, until I walked into the gorgeous hall in Chelsea Piers.  After checking in, we walked through a corridor lined with waiters holding inviting trays of wine and martinis.  Ivan took a glass of wine, turned to me and asked, "Do you want one?"  No, Ivan, I want seven, but that's not going to happen, is it?  "Oh man, I forgot, I'm sorry."  Boys.

The room was gigantic, hosting a 12 piece band (they were a-MAZ-ing), dozens of casino tables, a silent auction, and hors d'oeuvres stations with tiny versions of Mexican, Italian, and steakhouse-style goodies.  It also hosted quite the range in fashion.  It seemed that no one could agree on the dress code- there were men in tuxes and men in jeans and button-downs.  But the women looked sensational.

I took in the veritable fashion show around me.  These girls looked like they could have been dressed by Rachel Zoe.  They looked like they could have BEEN Rachel Zoe.  They had on these incredible, short, long- sleeved dresses with structured shoulders in gorgeous colors and patterns.  Some had cutouts in the back with pretty bras showing.  They ALL had fierce shoes and fun, chunky accessories.  In comparison, in my "elegant and refined" dress I felt about 65.

I couldn't help but think, "That could have been me, a few months ago.  Was it me a few months ago?  Why can't I remember?"  In this short time though, so much has changed.  I don't even know WHERE someone would find a dress like that!  And even if I did know, I'd probably be too darn tired to go and look for one.  And how were they walking in those shoes?  Yes, girls, 10 weeks in and I have become Old Lady.

I watched these girls flit about, looking fabulous, drinking their champagne, and dancing drunkenly to the same music that I am usually powerless against shaking it to.  In the meantime, I got myself a second helping of chips and guacamole.  Oh yeah, and then I sneezed and peed in my dress.

Between having no champagne buzz, being EXHAUSTED from having worked all day and just being tired in general lately, my expanding, broken out body, and my now damp underwear I was kind of a sight.  Or at least I felt it, which is really all that matters- I was certainly never going to see these people again.  All in all, I couldn't WAIT to get home and into some flannel pajamas.

On the way out though, I thought I'd use the bathroom quickly (lest my allergies kick in and I ruin the leather seats in the Jetta).  Lo and behold, on the couch in the sitting room were some of the fabulous girls.  Passed out.  With vomit down the fronts of their dresses.  I smiled and silently said to my baby, "Yeah, we're not missing out."

Soon after I became pregnant, my mom told me that I am joining a new club.  She knows just how much my appearance (not just physical, but appearing to be the peppy, ambitious, "go-go-go" girl- meaning never taking a break, not like a go-go dancer ;) ) means to me.  She was gently telling me that things are going to change, but that even though I'll never be that exact girl with whom I'd identified for so long, I'm going to be someone new.  I'm joining a club of ladies who are fabulous for other reasons. 

The truth is, the girls at the charity event probably want what I have.  They are looking cute, trying to find a guy like Ivan (good luck, he's pretty awesome!), to get the ring, to have the wedding, to have the baby.  And then it will be their turn to pee themselves in public.  Ah, the circle of life. 

So, I am not saying "good-bye" to life, just life as I knew it.  And, as I bid my former cute-looking self adieu, I look to the future- to the new ladies I can identify with.  I'm finding my new group. Which, with a little luck and maybe some retail therapy, will be the Cute Mommy Club.