If I were really self-deprecating or reader-indulgent, I would post a YouTube video of myself training for the new Olympic sport of pregnant woman putting on her pants in the morning. I would include an excerpt from the score of "Rocky" or perhaps my favorite anthem ever from a sports-related movie: "You're the Best!" by Joe Esposito, yeah, you know the part from "The Karate Kid."
And really, when I think about it, it must look like I am performing a very sloppy martial art, complete with lunges and kicks, when I am trying to get into my dang preggo pants in the mornings these days. The belly has tipped my center of gravity so much recently that we are really beyond any practical attempts to don the slacks while standing up. Which has been my ritual for the last 27 years. Or ever since I could dress myself - whenever that was - maybe when I turned 19? Don't know. But until now, I have never had to sit on bed or chair to pull legs into pants.
Not that sitting on a prop is a huge handicap, mind you. The problem is that I keep forgetting that because I am up a SWEET TWENTY POUNDERS, Y'ALL, I sit on the edge of our crappy bed and try to gracefully pull one pant leg on and suddenly find that I have tipped the bed so that the other end - the end I am not sitting on - is cresting up over me like a wave off of Maui. So then I stand up to try to get the other pant leg on, but, again, aforementioned tippage of center of gravity occurs. So sometimes I am resigned to plopping my fat toochis on the floor with my pants out in front of me, which goes smoothly enough, until, of course, I have to get back up, which, let me spare you the theatrics, is too sad, even for YouTube.