Crisp, fitted button down shirts used to slip right over it, tucked into sensible wool pants, fresh from the dry cleaner, awaiting the matching suit jacket. When slim pockets started to bulge and a co-worker joked, "I didn't think you were missing any meals," wool suits were left hanging. No hurry to get them to the dry cleaner.
To accommodate it, I worked from a dresser drawer wardrobe, pulling on the same "professional' stretchy knit pants every morning and rushing some nights to get the things washed and dried before the work day ahead.
Then the belly finally gave way to a new belly. A tiny, fold over the top part of the "swaddling" size diapers, belly. Which grew and grew and grew in wiggle pants and pj's to become the big round wonderful watermelon of a thing that tells all the world, I'm not yet a preschooler. Still a toddler - a baby yet - so kiss and rub me for good luck. I'm fleeting.
When my preschooler, Dee, was about Nar's age and I was seven months pregnant with T, we used to spend time each day, "contemplating our navels." Thank goodness there's still room in the day for tummy time.