Monday, June 16, 2008

Mourning of the Thong

In the nesting phase of my second pregnancy I have cleaned out most closets and this morning...my delicates drawer. In my 20s I would have called it lingerie. Today it's just my underwear and according to my 2 year old they are "big boy unders."

Crammed in the back of the bottom drawer were numerous pairs of thongs. Pretty, some lacy, some cutesy, little things that I wore years ago. Why was I hanging on to them? To remind me of what my butt used to look like? To remind me of my honeymoon and the several years that followed...before a child entered our lives and The Wiggles invaded our bedroom? To make me come to terms that no matter how fast I try to lose this baby weight that I will never again be comfortable in what should be called perma-wedgie wear?

Whatever the reason I was hording these floss like pieces of cloth I mourned their absence. After putting them in the trash I reflected on what I used to be...or at least, looked like. For several years they were all I wore...as underwear, not really all that I wore. With jeans, work suits, and even summer dresses thongs were the foundation of my clothing. How had I gone from matching lingerie to big momma underwear?

Feeling a little sorry for myself and contently riding the emotional roller coaster of pregnancy hormones I was sitting on my bed with my son allowing him to watch too much TV. In this daze I was remembering confidently getting dressed for parties and dinner out with my new hubby when my little boy snapped me back to the present. He put his chubby little hand on my mammoth belly, snuggled up close and said, "I kiss baby sister." He then leaned down for the sweetest peck I've ever witnessed.

Suddenly, the mourning ceased. I now have closure. Thongs, may you rest in peace.

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