Hang on to your socks, summertime. I've got me some neon yellow short shorts and I'm ready to use 'em.

Yesterday I embarked on a daunting journey with my napless two-year-old through the maze-like catacombs of—(dramatic pause)—the mall. We set off with the stroller and two granola bars on a nearly insurmountable quest to find me a maternity swimming suit that wouldn't make me weep on the spot.

Up to this point I've had no luck with the search. My sister gave me two of her old ones. They were a no-go. Then I ordered one off of Amazon, despite my reservations for ordering swimming suits online. Did I think it was cute? Heavens no. Like cute is even something I'm aiming for these days. But alas, it came—and—back it went.

So we marched into Motherhood like we owned the place and started making all sorts of demands. Well, not really. But we did kind of own the place, because—in what turned out to be a maternity miracle—I was the only customer in the store at the time. To be the only customer in a Motherhood at the Provo mall is a true rarity, because—correct me if I'm wrong—I'm pretty sure Utah County is the birthing capital of the world. Or something. The last time I was in there the place was filled to the brim with waddling ladies and hormones.

I grabbed one of everything and then it was a race against the toddler's mood to try them on. Clara was being miraculously pleasant, and it certainly helped that they had some building blocks in a bucket by the dressing rooms. Way to be brilliant, Motherhood. I think I tried on five or six suits and felt equally disgusted with all of them. Whoever is behind making maternity suits needs a real talking to. But then I found one that seemed like it might be acceptable to wear without frightening and/or scarring the public. So I whipped out my credit card, bought it, and high-tailed it out of there before I had the chance to second-guess my decision. (But I've been doing it anyway. Like: Did I get the right size? What if I gain 85 more pounds before lil' sis gets here? You know, stuff like that.)

But my favorite part of the story is that today I purchased the most hideous neon yellow shorts from Target to wear over my suit. It requires about six pairs of sunglasses just to look at these lookers. They had other colors, much more preferable too, but the neon yellow ones were the only ones left that had sizes large enough for my pregnant posterior.

So if you want to join us at the Scera this summer, we won't be hard to find—just look for the blinding light of yellow shorts and white skin all aglow. The downside is you'll have to hang out with Clara. The upside is, clearly, that you'll get to observe me strutting my pregnant, neon stuff.

Mmmm-mmmm.

These next 67 days are going to be some good-lookin' ones.
(67 days!)
(Tom keeps a countdown on his phone.)
(67 days, by golly!)


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Clara was not napless today. After playing for almost an hour, she finally crashed. Isn't she cute, all tuckered out in her new bed?