Yesterday Andrew and I trekked out to the One Of A Kind Show here in Toronto. I try to go to it every year that I can and I think the only shows I've missed since 2003 were the two years we lived in Ottawa. I love this show. Love it, love it, love it. It's the weirdest mix of what Andrew and I call 'shit-on-a-stick' art (a term I picked up when I used to peruse professional crafting forums that usually refers to the sock monkey/polymer clay/plastic canvas end of the spectrum) and art worth thousands and thousands of dollars.
Roaming the aisles is kind of overwhelming at times, especially if you go on the weekend when there's a huge number of people. I like to go initially for a look-around and then take advantage of the free re-admission on subsequent weekdays during business hours when the place is less likely to be crammed full of folks. Yesterday was crowded and I think I mostly just looked at booths from the aisle, only venturing into the ones that seemed most interesting and braving elbows and squeezing in between people when it was most worth it.
What struck me, though, was how many, many children and pregnant women I noticed this year. I know they're always there, but now that I've been yanked onto a new level of awareness of these things I couldn't help but check out all the strollers, slings and looming bellies I was surrounded by. Andrew pointed out that next year we'll be lugging our own kid and, as always, I was a bit gobsmacked by that. Even though this gestational thing feels interminable at times, it's still not really all that long and well crap maybe I'd better be making plans beyond just names, huh?
After Christmas. OK?
Anyhow, kids were everywhere as were women in various stages of pregnancy. I'm still not obviously pregnant even though I can tell where I end and uterus begins (I will NEVER refer to it as a 'baby bump' ever ever ever because that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard) but since I've always been the type to have a bit of a belly, even when I was at my most skinny-stage wee in my early twenties, it's not something anyone would notice yet. I notice it and I can definitely no longer sleep on my stomach comfortably, but ... yeah. I just looks faaaaat. I'm especially heartbroken about my beloved brown wool coat that I bought last year. It won't fit me much longer. I can still wear it open, but when I need a real winter-type warm covering I'll have to go buy a sub-par maternity jacket and I'm not happy about it.
Anyhow (again) I took a break to sit on a bench while Andrew wandered some more and one pregnant woman in particular walked past me a few times. She was working a booth and was bopping between it and ... somewhere else. She was just enormous, looking like she might just give birth at the show, and seemed all energetic and glowy and on top of the situation. I am so hoping I feel that way toward the end, too! She was wearing yoga pants and a tight t-shirt so was obviously embracing the whole 'yay I'm pregnant' look. It was nice. I really need to start buying some maternity clothes. Maybe I'll go for an entirely different style in maternity clothes than my usual casual to the brink of unacceptable. Where can I get punk babymama wear?
So, this was rambly and disjointed, but I guess it's just kind of revisiting how my awareness has really shifted to noticing tiny babies and spazzing toddlers and being forcibly reminded that it's no longer a 'maybe', it's an inevitability. WEIRD.
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