Further Adventures in Shopping While Pregnant

You mean this look isn't appropriate for a bar mitzvah?

I am, once again, faced with going Shopping While Pregnant.  If you are a longtime reader of the blog (as you really should be) you know that I almost had a nervous breakdown when I was gestating the Muffin Man and had to buy myself a dress.  I can't even express to you how absolutely horrible it is to try on clothing under fluorescent lighting when your body shape can best be described as a wide load with a basketball-under-the-shirt front bumper.  If only I could pop a few Xanax with a vodka chaser beforehand but, alas, this is not an option.

The only reason I'm hitting the mall in my current state of body shape is because another one of my nephews is having his Bar Mitzvah this weekend, and it turns out that the event calls for something a bit more dressy than leggings and a tank top.  I will, of course, be trotting out the aforementioned maternity dress for another appearance, but since we have a weekend of events to attend and I no longer fit into anything that's not yoga pants or a burlap sack, I'm being forced to man up and go purchase a dress.  Here's the problem: I am in the final stages of what will absolutely, without a doubt, be my last pregnancy.  Therefore, I really cannot justify spending any money on another maternity dress that I will wear once, maybe twice, before sending it on its way to someone interested in remaining fertile.  So the mission is to find a normal dress that looks flattering on my giant bump, but that I will also want to wear once I have returned to my more svelte shape.  This means that not only will I be Shopping While Pregnant, I will have to do so in the presence of other women who do not have a baby on board.  At first pass this doesn't sound like such a big deal, right?  Let's keep in mind, however, that I live in Los Angeles, where it's practically considered a crime to weigh more than a carrot stick, and the clothing choices in my local store reflect this.  Picture me, if you will, waddling around Bloomingdale's bumping into racks of clothing while attempting to avoid taking out one of my anorexic-looking fellow shoppers with my giant baby bump and leaving a trail of flatulence in my wake.  This is the stuff of fashion nightmares, my friends.

I promise to report back on my shopping expedition... assuming I don't completely lose my shit and end up in the Psych Ward sporting an oh-so-flattering hospital gown.