An Ode To a Single Pair of Shorts

August first is just a few days away. The month which to many marks the final third of summer.

How did that happen?

Furthermore, how did I get this far with just a single pair of maternity shorts in my possession?

Yes, ONE pair of shorts. Ohio dealt with day after day of record breaking temperatures in July and I—7 months pregnant at the time—muddled through it with just one pair of black maternity shorts with a panel on them that practically reached my boobs.

Please note that the shorts were only worn once between washings. I’m not the kind of girl that will wear clothes multiple times between washings—unless it is a pair of jeans since they are really just getting broke in with that first wear.

But this isn’t about jeans. It’s about shorts.

It wasn’t really my intention to make it through the summer with just one pair of maternity shorts.

I actually bought another pair a month or so ago. Cute denim ones. I liked them well enough in the store—although in my gut I felt I needed a large and all they had was a medium in stock. I bought them anyway thinking I could get through the summer easy enough in the medium. They did fit after all, I just wanted a wee bit more room. I got them home and put them on the next day. Still fit fine. As long as I was standing up. As soon as I tried sitting down or bending over I knew the medium was a mistake.

Back they went to the store. Out I came with store credit and no shorts.

My next door neighbor gave me three pairs of maternity shorts she had worn just a year before. Two khaki colored and one black. The black ones fit—they are the pair I’ve been wearing every week. The khaki ones? Not so much. They are still hanging in a bag on the back of my bedroom door waiting to go back to the neighbor. Taunting me with their smallness.

And now it’s almost August. I refuse to try to find another pair of shorts at this point in the summer.

Besides, gardening in a dress while eight months pregnant gives the neighbors something to talk about.

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