This is my third time packing my hospital bag. I like to think I am an old hand at this-- not like Mrs. Duggar old hand, but an old hand none-the-less. She's just crazy.
I know things.
I am wise.
I am experienced.
I am punchdrunk.
Today I went to Target, the Mother Mecca. I needed to buy travel size shampoo, which- of course- led to a picture frame, laundry detergent, strawberries, Chicken and Stars soup, underroos, and bottles.
It has been a long time since I have purchased underroos at Target. Being a grown up, I buy nice undies. Being over 30, I don't shop at Victoria's Secret. Too binding. Too uncomfortable. Too far gone for this pregnant belly. Too much of a lost cause and too hard to leave without feeling like a beached whale with those same blue fins flapping in the sunshine. Too much for the reason I am packing my bag for the hospital. BAM! Consumerism working.
My aunts all wear Hanes. How do I know this? I have no idea. They used to wear bikini cut, but in their growing age- they have switched to full coverage. Target is having a sale today on Hanes underross, and there I stood in front of a large wall of Hanes Panties.
Panties. Oh, that word is nothing I like to say. It's like saying "thick" -- it just seems too fat on the tongue to roll off with any elegance or class.
Where was I? Right- being classy talking about panties.
I felt like David in front of Goliath, cowering in the fear of the unknown.
But, I will be at the hospital soon and no one mentions that the hospital issues you underwear on the maternity floor. It is neither pretty nor comfortable. I was not going to fall victim to the white fishnet scariness that can be pulled past your boobies a third time. It must have been a man who thought them up. What woman would think fishnet would be coif when it came to post childbirth? White- at that.
Picture if you will, two doctors sitting around the bar contemplating how to improve labor and delivery.
"You know what those beached whales need, Bob?"
"What, Sam?" (not to be called beached whales? Maybe?)
"They need something that makes them feel good about themselves. We should invent something that does that for them. Sell it to hospitals and retire... but what can we do to make them feel good?"
"How about we issue a glass of champagne when they have completed childbirth. We could market it as Fizzy Baby."
"Nah. What woman who hasn't been able to drink for nine months would want something alcoholic?"
"That's true. Oh- I know. This is brilliant. While she is still drugged up- we can give complimentary liposuction. They could walk out of the hospital and right back into their old clothes."
"Are you crazy? Women LOVE to exercise. And their body needs the work." --a pause-- "I got it. By Hippocratic Oath. I got it. We need to make seamless fishnet panties for them. We can place them in plastic bags and only make XXL so no one feels bad if they cannot fit into a small. I really think I am the smartest man. But... what color should they be?" He muses as he looks down at his white coat.
"WHITE!" they exclaim together.
Back at Target, I am fully prepared to buy underroos that would hit the trash as soon as their purpose had been fulfilled. There are all kinds of underroos and I knew nothing about how to choose. Over on the left, there are full coverage with extra room in the rear in a leopard print. Size: 2XL. Being a two pack, they were paired with red. Who needs that much leopard in their life? I don't. Below those were a pack that looked an awful lot like men's briefs. They were even called Boyfriend Cut. They were gray and ribbed.
Honest to God, they were ribbed. It was at this point I picked up the phone to call one of my 60 year old Hanes-wearing aunts to let her know what I was looking at. I was looking at boxer briefs for girls. Ribbed.
Ribbed for her pleasure.
There were boy-cut shorts with the words "HANES UNDERWEAR" written across the band. As if a friend is going to see you in your zebra print underthings and say, "Hey! Those look quite comfortable with the wide 'action fit' band- do you happen to know what brand they are?"
Again, picture yourself looking down at your zebra boy cut do-dahs and saying to yourself, "Gee... I wish I could remember who made these? Oh. Wait. There it is. Can't miss it. HANES!"
Or, better still- these zebra boy-cut "HANES UNDERWEAR" are worn at the hospital and the nurse comes in only to be blown away by your brilliance of bringing your own under-drawers. If only we could figure out what brand they were... hmmm....
Extra wide bands, bandless, no-roll bands, hi-cut, low-cut, hi-waist-extra room in the rear, no-roll wide hip.... which should not be confused with the no-roll hipster underroos. Those came with a pair of black glasses and skinny jeans.
I am completely lost looking at my options as I just need something that won't touch my scar, keep my feeling a little modest, and not covered in an animal print. Is that too much to ask?
And there they were. In their glory. A fluorescent bulb from the heavens pointed her light to the top right corner- the place where I should have been looking all along.
Hanes underwear at its finest.
I drop my phone and am gawking at these things that Hanes has declared to be underwear and I deem nothing more than a shoelace, albeit maybe more comfortable? Okay, and let's take it one step further- both in my classiness and my ignorance. I pick up my phone off the ground and ask my 60 year old aunt to please google "tanga" ... because I had no idea what it meant.
You want to know what tanga undies are? Call your almost social security aged aunt and ask her to google TANGA undies on her work computer. Good news: She owns her own company with her husband. Bad news: Her husband will walk in. Good news: He'll think she's shopping for her. The Worst news: He'll find out she's not, rather their pregnant niece.
Trust me, it's the only way to find out. And they are clearly not hospital worthy. Unless they came in fishnet. White fishnet.
Cheetah print tangas will do nothing but ... well, they will do nothing.
Come on, this is Hanes we are talking about here. The inventor of the tag-less T-shirt. The company that prides itself on cotton... for comfort. Surely if my aunts can find something acceptable, I can, too.
In the end, David slew Goliath and I, too, slew the Hanes wall of unmentionables. What did I end up buying? A lady has to keep some secrets to herself, ya know.