The Case of the Growing Underwear

About the other night and the whole, "They keep getting bigger and bigger." It did suck, but you guys, it was also pretty hysterical. I'll be the first to admit that the underclothes, on top and bottom, are getting bigger. I've been culling my underwear drawer every couple of weeks removing the "Oh-those-are-so-cute-I'm-wearing-those-today" underwear that end up making me feel bad because they pinch at my waist or ride up on my cheeks. The stack of pale blues and whites was indeed a mixed lot, a few being of the boy short variety that are extra elastic, but look small until their stretching capabilities are exposed.

Sitting in the living room, the girls both asleep, so many loads of laundry completed, and having Sean helping me fold was delicious. There was teasing going in both directions, with me dishing out some serious ribbing on the tattered boxers from his Structure days, as well as his fastidious and dare I say, gay Gap clerk stereotype approach to folding t-shirts. Watching his amusement grow in direction proportion to the size of my underwear was, in fact, quite hilarious.

And, to you sweet friends, asking whether I swatted, snapped or lashed out at him, no, I did not. I simply told him in very specific terms that I would no longer be needing his assistance with folding. Neither of us made it through that quasi-huffy statement without smirking.

Later, as I washed up, the comment was all but forgotten. I padded softly to our bedroom and was just about to fall into bed when I realized something was different. The bed was made, but not only was it made, the blankets and sheets were drawn on my side, a fluffy flannel invitation. And the flannel! It was the new set of sheets I'd bought. Creamy layers of flannel adorned with navy swirls, the pillows stacked and puffy.

The only thing that could have made it better was if I'd just come from the shower, all clean and rosy. Though I'd not been bruised in ego or spirit by the underwear observation, Sean had carried it with him and suffered long after I'd forgotten about it. Later, as I melted into a cocoon of flannel, he rubbed my shoulders and massaged my hips, and as I drifted off to sleep he whispered in my ear, "Pregnant and still the sexiest woman in the world."

Luckiest, too.