What's the worst question you can ask a new mother?

"When are you due?"

Oh, the horror of having someone think you are pregnant when you have ALREADY HAD THE BABY! [dum dum dummmmmm]

I was about a month postpartum when I started looking for some new clothes. Still unable to fit into my prepregnancy stuff, I was happy to go shopping for tops and dresses that could accommodate my new boobs. Little did I know that the path to cuteness was paved with danger.

Enemy number one: The Empire Waist

Sandals Cay Silk Empire Waist Shirt
I had several male friends express their dismay when these came back into fashion. "How am I supposed to know who is pregnant and who isn't? I just totally insulted my coworker and I didn't mean to!" one poor fellow exclaimed. Why do we continue to buy these tops when we know darn well that floaty fabric coming down from the bustline hints at a baby bump?

They make our boobs look great. For that, we will forgive almost anything. But maybe we shouldn't.


Enemy Number Two: Trapeze Dresses
Maggy London Jersey Trapeze Dress
Oh, remember back in the early 90's when we all wore these and thought we looked adorable? I was about 12 or so and had one in dark green. Of course, being a scrawny kid with braces probably put the pregnancy questions to rest.

Also, if you wear one of these and twirl around really fast, everyone gets to see your underwear. Not that I ever did that.


Enemy Number Three: Tunics
Boden Fabulous Tunic
Sigh. This is really, really cute. I love the print and how it makes me think of a go-go dancer or a character from Austin Powers. I'd be tempted to wear this over gray leggings and cute loafers, but let's analyze: no defined waist, little to no shaping at the sides, unlikely to work well with a belt...yeah. I'd look pregnant.


Enemy Number Four: Blouson Dresses

Nordstrom Suzi Chin dress
In all fairness, I think this dress is okay. The problem is the blouson part itself. This extra bit of fabric that is folded over does its job; it hides your tummy. The problem is that it sort of rounds over your tummy, creating a nice little pouch perfect for a BABY to live in, kangaroo-style.

Enemy Number Five: Drop Waists
J. Crew Drop-Waist Dress
I have a bit of a drop waist phobia. I was turning twelve when my fashion-challenged grandmother gave me a pale blue floral-print drop-waisted dress for my birthday. It even had a big pink satin sash and a Peter Pan collar. Dude, you show up to sixth grade in a dress like that and you're gonna get your ass kicked. Drop waists manage to hide every possible curve on your body. Tush? Nah. Hips? Fuggeddaboudit. If the dress pictured here didn't have the ruffles, even your breasts would be nonexistent. Drop-waisted dresses can rot in hell, and take their Peter Pan collars with them. I'm sorry, Grandma, but the dress was really bad. I think that was the same year you gave me the music stand, too. Don't worry, I still love you.