Dress Dilemma

My bff from high school is getting married this June--SO exciting--and she's asked me to come and be a bridesmaid for her special day. I AM STOKED. I've never been a bridesmaid before--basically because I'm the only one married in my family and this is my first friend to get married. Imagine that. 

So, it is going to be a beautiful, traditional Catholic wedding and Tara's picked out a simply classic dress for her maids to wear. 

Only issue: it doesn't exactly cover my shoulders or back. 

It's a Bill Levkoff and really speaks for itself and I'm super paranoid about taking away from the dress with any alterations. 

All my (single?) ladies: we need to brainstorm. 

I'm not interested in jackets, cover-ups, or boleros--unless you can give me a killer idea for one. 

There is the one strap/trail of material that is attached in the back which is functional to use to cover me up. What do you think?

Here are a couple of ideas: 

-Use the portion of the sash that hangs off the back to attach material under the strap to hopefully make it look like the dress was meant to look like that--basically attaching a chiffon top underneath the strap, as if I was wearing an under t-shirt. 

-Cut off the strap entirely and attach some kind of sleeves. 

That's all I've got. 

Have any ideas? Would totally appreciate some input--even if it's just a pic. Actually pics are great. 

Thanks.

Here's the dress--it's in the olive-ish color, but it's actually more of a gold in person: 

The Last Date

Hey Jude,

Mom and dad went on a date tonight. 

Dad spent a little bit more than mom wanted to. He said we needed to go "all out" since this was my last night out...for awhile. 

Thanks love. 

I made dad sit next to me during the meal. We talked about different things--mainly how dad should stop saying inappropriate things due to the couple immediately behind us. The last thing you want is a startling word like "nipple" floating around the air for just any old elderly persons' hearing aid to detect--someone could choke on their steamed vegetables.  

Anyway...

In a nutshell, we ate, dad bought a brand new belt, and we went grocery shopping. Other than that, the food was good--better than good--great. We'll for sure be back again, which will probably mean that you'll be at home with a babysitter. Sorry kid--you've been the ultimate tagalong for over 9 months now: it's time your 'rents got some real alone time without the cute and annoyingly frequent, not to mention potentially disastrous, jab in the bladder every time our faces get close. 

We love you. 

Get your naked butt out here.  

Don't laugh.

I'm Loved

Hey Jude,

Mom's been featured. 

HERE

Hey Jude

Hey Jude,

I know you're having trouble deciding when you want to greet the world. It's scary, I get it. In the course of a week you've send mom and dad to the hospital twice with the anticipation that you'd made up your little man mind. Although frustrating and emotionally taxing, these little fake outs of yours have made the reality of your influence into our lives a little bit more clear and we have appreciated the opportunity to become a little bit more prepared. Hey, practice makes perfect, right? But please, please, don't wait until we are perfect. Also, daddy really can't keep using up his personal days. 

So listen carefully:

I have a very cute and cozy-soft Ralph Lauren outfit waiting for you to snuggle up to mommy in. 

You want it? You want it? 

Come get it. 

Otherwise, I'll save it for your brother. 

I Change My Mind

First of all, no need to point out--or talk ruthlessly behind my back--about how horrible my blog layout is at the moment. There's a kink I'm trying to figure out, or getting husband to figure out, so until it's either fixed or I create a new blog site: don't judge me for being tacky. 

Onward....

I can't help but dream about post-pregnancy body and post-pregnancy clothes. Last night I dreamt I had the little guy and I literally watched my stomach shrink back to it's original size. Dream Adam was looking over my shoulder going "yes!" 
p.s. Don't hate on me for wanting the little guy in my arms, not stretching out my skin. 

So I've stayed current with trends--not wearing, of course, just observing from the sideline (like the fat, uncoordinated kid), and awhile back I realized that one of my worst fears has become a reality. 

The 70s are back. 

I despise 70s fashion. 

Aside from the occasional classic faux fur piece or high waisted trouser, I hate the 70s. I feel like it was such a goofy, awkward time for fashion. It was like everyone threw all their creative energy into the amazing 60s that there was nothing left afterward. The country basically gave up for a decade and fried their brains until burnt orange became a good idea. 

BUT--And this is a huge BUT--the modern take that designers have created on 70s fashion today is so SOPHISTICATED IT KILLS ME. I think I'm kind of in love. Just kind of. It makes me want to pop out the kid, store up as much boob juice as possible, and diet hardcore so I don't have any added weight killing my feet when I buy a pair of sick 70s pumps--Q rolling eyes and stink-eye stares. 

Just humor me, even if you don't find me humorous. 

Now Please?

Yesterday I went to my OB appointment. I was excited and nervous--excited to see if there was any good news after being "checked", nervous because it's awkward..my feet aren't the only things I haven't been able to see. I got doubly nervous when the doc asked me if his med student could come in and observe during the examine...sure, why not! Trying not to get my hopes up, I anxiously looked at my OB for the verdict. He looked up with a big smile and said, "I've got good news! You're dilated to a 2 and 80% effaced. At this rate you could go to the hospital at a 4!" NO WAY!!! Then after saying something stupid like..let's hook me up to some Pitocin and get this going, he told me to hold tight and that I could go into labor any minute or go clear passed by due date. LAME, but still awesome. And of course when I called Adam he thought the news meant I was in labor--Q husband freak out--poor guy. 

Anyway, thought you all deserved an update. Sorry if I made anyone feel uncomfortable. Get over it. 

p.s. What do you predict? Will I go into labor within a week or so, or have to wait the full 3.5 weeks or later? 

36 Weeks

Welp, here's 36 weeks!

Let's all take a moment to pity me. Just kidding, I actually feel really good. It's not until I see pictures like this one when I realize why every man, woman, and child seems to be giving me a 12 foot radius of space at all times--as if I'm my own vehicle and totally don't know how to drive this thing. 

Yesterday we went bowling for our friend Phil's birthday and I kind of felt like I should just roll myself down the lane with this mother-of-a gut. When I got dressed to go Adam just came saying, "Oh my gosh, hunny, you're so pregnant."

Tuesday I start my weekly Dr. visits. Hopefully the frequent--not to mention awkward--poking and prodding will result in me going into labor early. 

One can only dream. 

Checklist of symptoms this week:

Heartburn √

Pelvis about to snap √

Penguin waddle √

Seasons 1-3 of Grey's Anatomy watched √

Stretch marks √√√

Back rubs--someone is still working on that one

Indecent carb consumption √

Dr. Pepper infatuation √

I'm not going to get any bigger am I?

I DID IT!

I PASSED THE NCLEX! I'm finally a Registered Nurse! I have this picture of me from preschool where my mom dressed me up like a nurse with my little white scrubs and cap and it makes me feel warm inside. It's just a little girl going to preschool realizing that her first steps toward reaching her goals were to first learn how to spell her name. Exciting right?!!

Super Snacker

Tonight kind of went like this:

Dinner, FHE, workout, come home. 

Around 9 o'clock the little guy decided he wanted a snack.

So I got hungry, naturally, and Adam just so happened to be in the kitchen. 

My selection of night-time snack #1 went something like this:

Brit: Hey, hun. Would you bring me an apple?

Adam: Yeah, sure. 

....

Brit: And the peanut butter jar with a knife?

....

Brit: And the Nutella? 

By the end of it, I had basically destroyed any nutritional value in that poor, poor piece of fruit. 

But it was delicious. 

Husband couldn't help but laugh over the massive cliche I was tragically committing. I might as well have balanced both jars on my belly and demanded Oreos to come join the party. 

Little Man Clothes

Am I a bad soon-to-be mom for planning on dressing my little boy like this?

Or like this?

The correct answer is no.