When I bought my wedding dress, I was not pregnant. Therefore, I was able to squeeze my then-tiny-self into a size 6. It was snug, but it worked. It was also the only size available.
Then…I got pregnant.
I’m sure I got pregnant because I bought a small wedding dress. If the store had had a size 8, I’d have bought that, and I can pretty much guarantee I would not have gotten pregnant.
This pregnancy is in no way related to Kiefer and I using the “whatever happens happens” birth control method. Obviously not related.
When my mom and I went to my first alterations appointment, the seamstress alluded that my dress might not be able to be let out enough to accomodate my changing body. Or as my mom put it on the ride home…
Mom: Thoughtsy, your breasts will not fit in that dress if they get any bigger. And they’re gonna get bigger. You may want to look for a backup dress. Otherwise you’re going to be scrambling for a new dress 3 weeks before your wedding.
My response? I called Kiefer.
Thoughtsy: Kiefer, my mom just called me fat.
What’s interesting about this is that my dad also called me fat. After Kiefer and I told my dad I was pregnant, he told my mom…
Thoughtsy’s Dad: I thought she might be. When we picked her up from the airport, she wasn’t as anorexic looking as she usually is.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I would have played a game called who can eat cake fastest without a fork. This would give me an excuse to face plant cake in public like I do in private….”—BlissfulBritt