Christmas Party

We had our squadron Christmas party this weekend. I planned ahead and made sure I had a fancy tent dress to wear for the occasion, however I failed to consider shoes. I didn't give much thought to shoes until about 10 minutes prior to leaving the house and 20 minutes after Shelby's scheduled departure time. My first choice would have been a pair of awesome red heels that look something like this:

However even if it were possible to cram my swollen feet into those shoes, I'm pretty sure remaining upright for any length of time would be damn near impossible given my clumsy pregnant status. The heel is too high and I have a hard enough time walking in them in a non pregnant status. I'm not trying to visit the ER here ever again. After trying on every pair of potential flat choices in my closet nothing was right and I decided to go with the strappy black heels that are not as high as the red shoes. Painful but doable. Now it was time to pour into some pantyhose. In case you were wondering, there are two things pregnant women are never, ever, meant to wear. And they are pantyhose and high heels. I even bought the biggest size pantyhose I could get my hands on at the BX. No good, clearly the Hanes company has no clue what a 180 pound woman actually looks like.

But there I was, squeezed into the pantyhose and hoping they didn't cut off circulation to my lower half (wait, would that make the swelling go down?) or cause my water to break when Shelby decided to come upstairs and "notify" me that we should have left 20 minutes ago. Apparently he was unaware I was wielding a weapon and being tortured by pantyhose. He's lucky I didn't hurl a shoe at his head, and perhaps the only reason I didn't was because I would have had to bend over and pick it up, which is no easy task at this stage. Instead I looked at him like he had three heads and tried not to scream "DON'T JUST STAND THERE, HELP ME!!!" Can he not see that I am trying to blindly buckle the ankle strap on a pair of shoes that is so small it's virtually nonexistent because I cannot see (and can barely reach) my feet? Sheesh. By the time I wrestled on the pantyhose and the shoes I was unsure I even had the energy to attend the damn party. But I did. We had fun. They played some games which resulted in men looking like this:

I got to see friends I probably won't see again before leaving for Germany this week.

We took silly pictures with my gigantic belly.

And at the end of (our) night I'm glad I remembered to get a picture of Shel and I together. 

We certainly didn't close the party down and it took me two days to recover from the evil things the shoes and pantyhose did to my body. But we had fun!