11 weeks

Of the sixty-seven maternity castoffs given to me by friends, I can actually use four.

When you’re expecting, all your formerly pregnant friends see you as a dumping ground for their maternity wear. It doesn’t matter that the items are stained, ripped, reek of mothballs, are four sizes too small, or were fashionable during the 1980s. They have great sentimental value to these women, and they want to pass all their wonderful memories off to you.

I’ve found protesting, even when interspersed with logic, doesn’t work. “Mary Jane, I appreciate the gesture, but you weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet when you were pregnant with twins, so I really don’t think these jeans will fit.”

“Just try them,” she’ll invariably reply. “You might be surprised.”

What she means is, “Don’t be silly! I don’t want to cheapen all my wonderful prenatal experiences by abandoning them to GoodWill, so I’m giving my clothes to you and making myself feel good in the process. You really don’t want to rob me of that, do you?”

So in my friends’ efforts to do me a favor, they’ve given me more work to do as I haul yet another bag of unfashionable tatters to the nearest charitable donation center.

I wonder if any future pregnant friends will realize what a huge favor I’m doing them when I don’t offer them any of my old maternity clothes.