Right, so where were we?

Aaah yes, my not so newly acquired baby bump. 

I say not-so-newly 'cos I am, as of today, 25 weeks pregnant and have the bongo drum playing sensations from within my belly to prove it. And, should I find myself momentarily forgetting that I am with child, said child has been known to make her presence known with a roundhouse kick to the ribs that would make Jackie Chan wince. 

Warning: This blog post contains oestrogen-fueled, progesterone-enhanced content best avoided by members of the male species.

Internal tap dancing and bladder bouncing aside, the second trimester has been a pleasure. Nope, not being sarcastic, weeks 14 to 26 have been pretty darn pleasant. While I ate my weight in easy-to-peel naartjies, drank 100% orange juice like a camel stocking up for the great trek and fantasised about 3pm power naps under my desk throughout trimester one, trimester two has been morningnoonandnight sickness free. It's also been characterised by less hormone-induced hysteria and more bursts of energy, which I have put to good use around the house. According to my sister, I'm nesting. Apparently this behaviour becomes more pronounced in trimester three (where's an 'eek!' emoticon when you need one?) The phrase, "Watch out dusty DVD drawer, mama's coming and she's in an alphabetical order kinda mood" springs to mind.


Another thing that springs to mind is leggings. Not leggings as an item of clothing but rather the hunt I endured in pursuit of these mythical unicorns of stretchiness. 

Rewind a couple of years and leggings were everywhere and they were thick and strong and had cool scaffolding that lifted one's buttocks and poly-filled upper thigh hail damage. Fast forward back to present day and it's all high-waisted, bump-slicing  jeggings and flimsy cotton leggings that go from opaque to sheer with the slightest of bends. 

After waddling around all major Northern suburb malls and an overpriced workout wear store or two, I had no choice but to embrace my inner 'yummy mummy' and replace my early morning ritual (picture a hippo wiggling into a g-string) with easy-to-get-into, life stage appropriate maternity wear.

Long story short, I now own two pairs of leggings (sturdy enough stuff to withstand expansion in the area that my waist used to be) and one pair of low-waisted jeggings that do truly miraculous things for the other area I appear to be 'carrying' in – my thighs.

I'm told that the next thing to be sacrificed at the antenatal altar is my underwired brassier. In response to this I can't help but go all Mel Gibson in Braveheart...

"You may take my waistline but you'll never take my Wonderbra."