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Champagne Dreams and Bandage Dress Wishes

26 Jan

In the past month I’ve had 2 events requiring me to not only test my stamina in heels, but also wear something that does not have a lycra panel that reaches up to my chest.  The first event was when I was 18 weeks along, when I had a nice, neat little bump and swelling hadn’t yet spread to my thighs or chest. The other was for my baby shower at 23 weeks…where the swelling spread everywhere except my face, hands and ankles (I can only assume my body is saving these parts for its “third trimester grand finale”).

In continuing with my pregnancy goal of wearing clothes as form-fitting and cleavage bearing as possible (without looking like a sad, down-on-her-luck and out-of-shape hooker), the search was on to find the perfect ensembles that would ensure there would be no mistake between a baby belly and a beer gut.

Enter the Hervé Leger dress.

For reasons unknown I’ve always had an obsession with Hervé Leger dresses.  His designs (specifically, the infamous “bandage dress”) are worn by celebrities everywhere from the “G-rated” Hilary Duff to the “wtf-rated” Kim Kardashian.

Herve Leger Bandage Dresses. And no, I swear I don't have an obsession w/Hilary Duff...this is just an awkward coincidence.

While his styles have been copied by many a designer, I firmly believe it’s this guy’s bourgeoisie-sounding name, Hervé (pronounced “Her-vay”), that keeps him on celebrity speed-dials. Let’s be honest, if his name was Harvey Ledgerman the closest he would probably come to a Kardashian would be sharing a clearance rack at Sears (nothing against Sears. Love their power tools.).

But I digress…

Yes, some Hervé Leger dresses break some of my personal rules of fashion (ex: There is an inverse relationship between cleavage-exposure and dress length. Respect it. Don’t put all of your “goods” out there at once.)  However, by and large his stuff is very flattering to women…Especially the famous ones with an army of stylists and personal trainers.

So, I pondered a Hervé Leger bandage dress.  If curvy celebrities like Kim Kardashian can wear them, why can’t I? My delusional thought process went a little something like this:

My logic can't be denied.

So, it was settled. I would save myself the $1,000 of purchasing this dress (because I’m not that delusional) and instead rent a Hervé Leger dress from Rent the Runway (more on them in another post), and look absolutely fabulous as my newly pregnant self showed off my bump.

Still, even after making this decision, there was a nagging feeling I couldn’t shake.  What if this wasn’t a good idea after all? Since this cocktail party was being hosted by the leader of the free world, maybe I shouldn’t wear the same style of dress I would choose if, say, I was embarking on an all-night bender in Vegas?

To reassure myself, I turned to google.  Surely there would be an image of pregnant celebrities looking fabulous and classy in this style of dress.

After typing in “Herve Leger bandage dress” and “pregnant”, this is what I found:

Christina, I think your stylist is out to get you.

Um…soo…Xtina, girl, I love you. I really do. Your “Stripped” album got me through some major cardio sessions at the gym during my junior year of college.  I respect your talent and vocal range so much I’m even willing to overlook that thing you called a “spanish album” back in 2000. Hey, we’ve all had bad days and bad outfit choices, and I understand that (hello, I wore pleated high-waisted corduroys from 1996-1998).  So, I hope you’ll understand that this comes from a place of love and respect when I say this was not one of your best looks. (Also, I know you weren’t pregnant in this photo, but for some reason Google Images tagged you as such.)

Safe to say, this look is my “Scared Straight” of fashion. For that, I thank you Xtina.

I realized that even with all the industrial power of Spanx and sticky tape in the world, the bandage dress is not meant to hold in these twins (both the literal ones in the belly and the aspirational ones on my chest).  Still, I’m not giving up — one day a Herve Leger will be mine!

(After my bandage dress dreams unraveled, see what I actually ended up wearing here)

I’m only talking to you because you’re standing near the dessert table.

13 Dec

Before I was pregnant, I loved holiday parties because I got to wear glitter and sequins and drink classy booze. Now that I’m in an obvious state of knocked-up-titude, my love for classy booze has transformed into a love for finger foods.

This weekend I attended a holiday party at the White House.  This is our 3rd year attending this party, and it’s the one time each year that I get to meet my husband’s colleagues and their wives, which means lots of introductions  and lots of trying to juggle shaking someone’s hand with a beverage in one hand and a plate in the other.

Theoretically, I should have been taking in my surroundings: the beautiful holiday decorations, the Marine band playing Christmas carols, the fresh Christmas trees in each room…but no. I saw that stuff last year. This year, I zeroed in on the buffet tables.

The nice part about being pregnant is that you suddenly find yourself with an excuse to do things that normally you wouldn’t do. Like stuff your face instead of talk to people.  People were mingling; I was cleaning house on some tater tots and mini filet slices. It was amazing.

While I was at the buffet table, I looked up briefly to notice I was the only one eating food, and then promptly realized I didn’t care.

It’s really unfortunate how much I can relate to this video.

Photo evidence from the party: 

Pretty sure this bump is like 25% babies and 75% cheese plate. Ultrasound this week will confirm my suspicions. Cheese should come with a warning label.

Obligatory holiday decoration photo. Yup, this is the only one I took. Look at the pretty tree!

My maternity jeans bring all the boys to the yard.

8 Dec

After one-too-many days of super skinny jeans squeezing my legs like sausage casings, I realized it was time for a drastic change. Wearing unbuttoned and unzipped jeans  and excessively long shirts was not only questionable behavior in my company’s HR handbook, but also just left me feeling kind of gross.    My new “thicker” self was simply asking too much of my pre-baby wardrobe.  My jeans were all, “bitch, please.” And I was all, “omgwhyaremypantstryingtokillme?!?!?”

The time had come to make the permanent conversion to maternity pants.

Walking into the maternity section at Macy’s, I was horrified.  It seems that in order to prevent pregnant women from feeling too good about themselves, department stores shove the maternity sections into the darkest corners of their floors… next to the lingerie.  Thank you, Macy’s. Nothing says “self-esteem boost” like contemplating an awful floral empire-waist tent dress while you’re backed up against a rack of size zero thongs.

…and then I found “the pants.”

Some women seem to think that certain attractive men are gifts from God. Clearly these women have never worn maternity pants, because these things are the real deal sent straight from sweet baby Jesus himself. Maternity pants changed my world, so consider me converted. (Can I get an “Amen?”)  Look out… I’m about to  get all crazed-televangelist-preacher on these pants. 

Can I get an “Amen?”

See, I used to hate pants. Like, I loathed them. I blame two things for this: 1) a childhood growth spurt that left me wearing high-water-style pants well into high school (and consequently left me damaged well into adulthood) and 2) the curse of latin hips with a european (read: flat) ass…meaning I often suffered from “dumpy butt” syndrome since I was physically incapable of filling the rear of most jeans and dress pants.  I had essentially resigned myself to skirts and dresses for life.

Until maternity pants, that is.

Bringing sexy back.

Not only do they come in lengths (!), but they stretch and hug me in all the right places. And dammit, they make me feel sexy. Maternity jeans are the best skinny jeans I’ve ever worn. EVER. Something about a stretchy front panel that stops just below your chest makes you feel so secure about yourself (and your pants) that you want to throw two snaps  to the air and strut to pick up your copies from the printer like you’re on the catwalk for Versace’s 2012 fall collection in Milan.

Now watch me blow air kisses as I change this toner cartridge.

Thank you maternity jeans for bringing sexy back.

Can I get an “Amen?”

Watch out J.Lo. There’s a new Latina in town.

21 Nov

As a woman of Latin decent, history and the rise of Jennifer Lopez dictate that I should have an ample chest and a meaty behind. Those who know me know that this is not how I look, nor is it how I’ve ever looked (except for that semester in Spain where I sustained myself on alcohol, bread, cheese and more alcohol. AKA “The 6 months of which we will never speak again”).

Thanks to these precious babies, this body is on like donkey kong. Even if my children never give me a tangible gift in their lifetime, they will have always given me the two greatest gifts of all: 1) The  gift of motherhood, and 2) a body that is on its way to popping bottles in a rap video.  I plan to enjoy this for the full 5 seconds it’ll last before it disappears forever, and I just end up looking like a tragic case of burrito bloat.

A visual illustration of my side profile before and during pregnancy.

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