Erma Bombeck Writing Competition - Winners
2002
Erma Bombeck Writing Competition
2nd Place - Dayton Category
Gina Sandoval
Oakwood, Ohio
"Is That A Watermelon in Your Stomach?"
| My friends all huddle in a corner, discussing leather pants and hooker boots over a pitcher of beer. I sit awkwardly on a wooden barstool, the kind with one leg shorter than the other three, sitting on my hands to balance the disproportionate watermelon that has become my stomach. While I'm trying to comfortably poise a body showing six months of bloated bliss, the girls are discussing their New Year's plans. They are trying to persuade me to go with them, (they think I'll be able to help them get through the bathroom lines at the clubs quicker), but I reiterate our plans for a quiet evening. After another half an hour of planning the perfect ensemble for the big night, one of them turns to me and says, "Have you figured out what you're wearing for New Year's?" Oh, silly girl. Silly, silly, (skinny) girl! You should know better than to ask that question to a woman who is spending her first season buying from Motherhood Maternity instead of The Gap. Didn't you see me almost trip over my maternity shirt on the way in? Do you see this figure (or lack of one) in front of you? Closing in on my third trimester, I find myself increasingly annoyed by the cumbersome growth of my gargantuan stomach, even if it does house my beloved son. For the first time in my life, my stomach stays in the exact same state, no matter what position I am in. Stand up, sit down, lay down, do a back bend -- the bowl full of jelly stays intact. Why is that when we decided it was time to start having children, we considered all factors except for my impending circus tent wardrobe? How did I forget to add to my pre-pregnancy checklist: "Be bigger in size than you ever dreamed you could be, and be in no position to avoid that weight gain"? So when my close friend of 12 years turns to me and says, "What are you wearing for New Year's?" I want to rip out her naval ring so she has to experience what it's like to wear a shirt that covers her belly button, even if it's just while the stitches heal. Instead I just say, "I'm not sure yet," and take a sip of my water, trying not to roll my eyes. "You think you are so cool because you wear jeans that zip," I think smugly to myself. And then he kicks me, and a grin spreads slowly across my face, zippers and tank tops fading from my mind, and suddenly I wish it was physically possible to hug your own stomach. |