I’m not at my most attractive right now, which is an understatement. My skin is translucent because it’s the dead of Chicago winter. I have huge dark circles under my eyes because my “pregnancy bladder” is waking me up multiple times a night. Because I’ve been on bed rest, I’ve been makeup free and am in desperate need of a haircut and highlights. I’ve gained 50 pounds, and, because I haven’t been able to exercise for the past 11 months, I’m not only up 50 pounds, but completely out of shape. These days, the overall package that is me isn’t pretty.
Yesterday, when my husband left to pick up my 15-year-old stepson, who is on a four-day midwinter break from his out-of-state school, I announced to my nearly 5-year-old son that I was going upstairs to put on makeup.
“Why?” he asked.
Well, my first answer was that, as of Thursday afternoon, I could. Because I haven’t experienced placenta previa-related pre-term bleeding in three weeks, my doctor said that I can transition from full bed rest to partial bed rest, so I’m now allowed to stand up for a few minutes to perform basic tasks like applying makeup.
My second answer was that I looked terrible, so I wanted to put on some makeup so my stepson, who has been away for a month, who has only heard about my 4-day hospitalization and bed rest, wouldn’t be freaked out upon seeing me.
My son said, “You don’t look terrible.”
“Thanks, sweetie. But, I’ll look better if I put on some makeup.”
This morning, my son walked into my bedroom just as I was deciding what to wear for the day. I told him I was going to put on a tank top.
“What’s a tank top?”
I pulled a black one out of the closet, held it up and said, “This is one. It’s basically a t-shirt without sleeves.”
“Then everyone will see your arms.”
“I know. But, because of the baby in my belly, I’m hot all the time, so I’m going to wear a tank top underneath my sweater, in case I need to take my sweater off.”
As I pulled the tank top over my head and pulled it down over my super-sized belly, he said, “You look pretty good in that.”
My sweet, sensitive son gave me a compliment.
And, whether he was serious—or simply trying to make me feel better about myself—doesn’t matter. Sometimes, in the third trimester of pregnancy, moms-to-be need little white lies.