But this statement is so true. There are some days, I feel like a million dollars and I want the whole world to share in my joy. I leave the apt with the shiniest "Charles Angel high-gloss, high-bounce hair" and the most perfect ensemble even Anna Wintour couldn't help acknowledge me in the Conde-Nasty elevators one day. Then there are the hat, large sunglasses and the most non-decsript jacket in the closet days.
These days, for some reason, every man on the street stops and stares. According to mommie friends, its the hormones and the extra glow from being preggers. "Plus you're hot, stupid", claimed one friend. What ever it is, I like the extra glow part.
Never did I think I was ever going to become a mommie. Like I said, not until Super French Dude came along. So, I was never into baby showers, baby-anything. As a matter of fact, I dont think I ever attended a baby shower. My Saturday's were usually spent brunching, spaing, shopping and lazily nursing a hang-over from the weeks activites. Plus, none of my girlfriends have babies, want babies or would know what to do if a baby was handed them. So, hence I never knew what was fashionable for babies and mommies.
So, these days, not only myself but SF as well, we catch ourselves peeping out other parents. What strollers they're pushing along through Central Park, what accessories are in the strollers, etc. Because you wouldn't dare be caught in NYC with an inferior stroller. Nuu-uuhhh. We also comment on child discipline. Usually chiming in, "oh our baby is not going to be spoiled like that".
But, more importantly for me, I check out what other fashionable mommies are wearing on the streets of NYC. Oh, you can easily tell who lives in NY and who commutes from the burbs for work. I'm talking about skinny maternity jeans, topped with a cool Alexander McQueen screen tee topped with a fitted yet breathable, open-button red blazer or the super-fit, super classic, yet ever so-elegant cashmere sweater dress with a semi-plunging v-neck. Wait, that's my look.
I love walking down the street and secretly watching other moms to be. I inspect every layer and every piece. Sometimes thinking "inspiration or "uggghh what the hell are you thinking". But, no matter, this is such an unusual activity to be partaking in. It's so new and I know short lived, that I am enjoying every second of it. Because who knows what happens once baby frenchie gets here.
Oh plus # 40 (with excerpt below) on "Why We Love NYC"... Our Pregnant Woman Kick Ass!!
It’s not easy being pregnant in New York. No one offers you a seat on the subway. Everything smells terrible. It’s normal to walk twenty blocks through rain and heat and snow, just like a postman, except nonunion and with the mail sack tied to your abdomen. There’s remarkable pressure to look stylish and put together even when your ankles have swollen up to the size of Murray’s bagels.
Which is why there was something perversely inspiring about the way that, one week before giving birth to Archie Arnett, Saturday Night Live’s Amy Poehler went out there swinging, her immense belly swaying over the “Weekend Update” desk, performing a wild, aggressive Sarah Palin rap—effortlessly shooting down both a dancing moose and the actual Sarah Palin. Anchor Campbell Brown savaged spin doctors throughout her first trimester, sharpened by fuzz-head hormones that fell other women.
Saint Angelina alighted here for a while; even Ashlee Simpson named her son Bronx Mowgli, which is a lousy name, but let’s take it as a compliment.
But maybe it’s the ordinary pregnant woman in New York who should get our salute. Here’s to you, belly-first lady striding through the heat ripples of August! Try and ignore it when people scream “You’re huge” or “I can tell you’re having a girl, they steal the mother’s beauty.” Take it easy walking down the broken stairs to the F train, and here, have a seat. Just don’t name your child “Roosevelt Island.”
