Life With Ladybug: Top Heavy

By Shannon, Ladybug’s mother

bigstockphoto_ladybug_2853358.jpgI have been in purge mode. The most recent victim was my bedroom closet. I went through and dragged out all those hanging clothes that I NEVER wear anymore. Near the end of my grab, un-hanger and toss frenzy, I came upon a crisp, white shirt with three little buttons at the top. Then I had one of those moments where your eyes suddenly well up with tears and your heart squeezes with sadness. Truly, I was absolutely overcome with emotion as I pulled the cotton top to my chest. That was the shirt I wore when I was newly pregnant, when no one but close family – and my husband, of course – knew that there was a tiny life growing inside me. Just a few weeks after I found out I was going to be somebody’s mother, that was one of the first “maternity” shirts I bought. It looked like a normal white button-down blouse, but the tag said otherwise. My little secret. Then my chest began to inflate and – this is the thought that sent me into a near-swoon – one day that shirt just didn’t fit anymore. When I couldn’t wear it anymore, when I had to graduate up to a bigger size, that’s when the enormity of the baby growing inside me became real. My swollen belly and burgeoning boobs were proof to me and everyone else that I was, as they say in the Bible, with child. That’s when we told other people, as if it wasn’t obvious, that I was expecting (can I just say that I’m 4’ 11” and began resembling a walking beach ball very early on?).

After I had pressed the shirt to me for a while, I got down to the next layer of forgotten maternity-wear: the bigger-in-the-boobs-and-belly clothes I wore throughout the exciting, sickness-filled, fibroid-producing, thrilling ride to the emergency C-section delivery table. There was the black with thin white stripes top that I wore with my elastic-waist jeans. And there, at the end, the stretchy ankle-length leopard print skirt and matching top that kept me from going naked at the newspaper where I worked until the last days of my pregnancy (sorry, former office-mates that you had to see that one so much near the end).

I ponder whether to keep these clothes or not. I won’t need them anymore. We have our 6-year-old Ladybug and feel our family is complete. We don’t plan on any more children, so I could technically give the leopard skirt and white shirt away. But I think I’ll keep them — those two items, at least, as a reminder of the new life I was beginning.


To refrain from being a Debbie Downer, I give you the following conversation with my husband:

“I think it’s sweet how Ladybug likes to watch Westerns with you,” I told him.

“Yeah, but you have to watch closely because inappropriate stuff pops up a lot,” said husband. “The old Westerns are better.”

“Yeah, but they all have fights, someone gettin’ killed and cussin’,” I noted.

“Yeah, I guess. But without that, you’d have Brokeback Mountain,” he said.


  1. @Summer: OK, I should know this, but does ROFL mean “Roll on the Floor Laughing”? Please enlighten me 😉

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