At this rate I'll be naked by Friday.

I've been wearing the same jeans my entire pregnancy. I got them about nine months ago from the clearance section at Reitmans. I had to order them online to get them in my size, they were $15, and girlfriend style. I've never heard of girlfriend jeans before and haven't seen them since, so they might have been a short lived failed trend, but I'm telling you they were magical. They fit my postpartum mom bod like a dream and have been perfect with a belly band this entire pregnancy. I was looking forward to wearing them after baby was born, too. They are my body's version of travelling pants. So, when I got home from work on Friday and discovered two rips in the lower butt cheek region of my jeans I was unsurprisingly distraught.

I am 33 weeks pregnant. My maternity jeans from my last pregnancy are more snug than I care to admit, and I am not interested in spending a small fortune on maternity jeans that I will only wear sporadically for a few more weeks. I did the only reasonable thing to do and dragged my extremely pregnant self to Value Village on Sunday night where I went through the entire (tiny) maternity section and two sizes of non-maternity jeans. I was there for over an hour, tried on eight pairs of jeans, and left out of breath from all the bending over and with a gravy boat for my troubles. 

I had to go to Walmart on the way home, the other place where dreams go to die, and was there far longer than I planned on. On my way back to my car I noticed a lovely mustard yellow cardigan laying in the middle of the parking lot a couple spots away from my car. It was my lovely mustard yellow cardigan that I had thought was in the bottom of my purse. It had somehow liberated itself from my the bowels of my bag as I was walking into Walmart 45 minutes earlier. I'm not sure how it happened, because I hadn't been digging through my purse or anything as I was walking through the parking lot, but there it was. My runaway cardigan. Miraculously, it wasn't run over or trampled by the manic week before Christmas shoppers, so the story had a happy ending. I shoved it back in my purse and went home and ordered $300 worth of jeans online from Old Navy to make myself feel better.

When I left the office at the end of the day yesterday, I noticed a lone mitten laying in the middle of the alley I walk down to get to my car. My mitten. My handmade, run over and trampled mitten. My mitten that had been buried deep in my purse yesterday morning, which I was not even touching on my walk up to the office. I just don't understand. After a round in the washing machine the mitten will make a full recovery, and maybe its rebellious spirit will be quashed in the process.

My clothes are all abandoning me. At this rate, I'll be completely naked by Friday and not even know how it happened. Send blankets.