The Dressing Room
The preacher asked me yesterday
To sing this Sunday morn,
But it's only been a month or two
Since my littlest was born.
And nothing in my closet
Fits me quite the way I'd like
Since my body had to stretch and swell
To grow the little tyke.
Before I even realize it,
I'm at the neighbor's dropping
The babes off for their noon-time nap
While Momma does some shopping.
The springtime colors beckon me,
The lace, the floral trims.
The girly, ruffled bodices,
And dainty, flowing hems.
I start to fill my arms with garb
Of every shape and style,
And soon I'm off to the dressing room
With a truly impressive pile.
I step into a pretty skirt,
And slide it past my hips.
But when I go to fasten it,
I just can't make it zip!
"This can't be right," I say aloud,
"I know this is my size."
But try as I might I just can't get
That stubborn zip to rise.
I guess that brand runs a little small.
I go back to the stack,
Maybe a skirt isn't what I need.
I'll try a pair of slacks.
But still no luck--I twist and gasp;
I do a little dance,
I even start to wonder,
Do they make shoehorns for pants?
This is crazy; this is nuts!
This calls for something drastic.
Dejectedly I grab a pair
With a waistband of...elastic.
They cut in at the waist too much,
And make me slightly lumpy,
But at least they fit. There's no going back.
I'm starting to feel grumpy.
So I grab a shirt and slip it on
With a quick flick of the collar.
So far so good! I love the style
I think I'm looking taller!
But as I start to button up,
I see there is no way.
This prim and proper oxford
Looks more like a bustier! (boo-stee-ay)
A nursing mom has more to hide
Than she ever has before.
And the sight of this sends me right over the edge.
I pack up and run for the door.
But what will I wear this Sunday to sing?
It's coming down to the wire.
I guess I'll wait till no one's around,
And snag a robe from the choir!
