So I've been wearing Z's t-shirts around the house because, well, I don't fit into any of mine. And I don't want to wear maternity clothes all the time. I am partial to maternity shirts that hug the belly rather than drape the belly (we want to look pregnant, not like we're trying to hide something), and when I'm chilling at home I want to be loose and free, not hugged. In fact, anytime I go out and have to wear a real outfit (classified as anything not yoga pants and huge t-shirts), I spend most of my time counting down the minutes until I can get back home and into my comfy clothes. Also, it should be noted that I am down to one pair of pants that fits. My friends here have been gracious enough to not comment about the fact that I am always in the same pants and working with a very small rotation of tops. It's just that spending money on maternity clothes is painful.
I just kind of started taking shirts out of Z's drawer and he was finally like "Hey man, you're wearing all my PT shirts and I need those." (Non-Army folk, soldiers have a special uniform for their daily physical training (PT). You know the ones, the grey t-shirts with ARMY written in black across the front. They're super comfortable, especially if they're nice and worn out). So I'm like "well...why don't you go through your t-shirt stash and pick out a few that you don't wear anymore and I'll just use those?" (Compromise. It keeps the marriage healthy.) So he sets aside 4 or 5 t-shirts for me and we're both happy.
Then the other night, I'm cooking a dinner full of garlic and onions and grilled chicken. The grill pan starts to smoke and suddenly the whole house is kind of hazy and smelling very...flavorful. Yeah, we'll say flavorful. Dinner turned out great, but afterwards I'm sitting there and I just can't handle the smell that has firmly attached itself to my (previously Z's) shirt. I have the super powerful pregnancy nose. So I say "hey, can you go grab me another shirt? I can't smell this all night." Z goes down into the laundry room where these is a fresh stack of clean shirts and picks one out and I'm free of the garlic/onion/chicken shirt.
But then I'm sitting there and I'm thinking "something smells...weird." I know it's not me, because I am freshly showered at this point. So I do a little sniffing and realize it's this shirt. What the heck?! What IS this smell? It's not dirty, it's not sweaty, it's not moldy...but it's...something.
I think for a little bit...and then I remember that this happened...
Not long ago, for whatever reason, Z decided to put a shirt on Olive. We found it kind of hilarious and, surprisingly enough, Olive really loved her t-shirt. She happily wore it for a few days and then we took it off and moved on with life.
But now I'm sitting here in this freshly-laundered-but-still-funky-smelling shirt and I realize...I'm wearing THE DOG SHIRT.
"ZACH! You gave me the DOG SHIRT. That's why it smells weird!!"
Gross. A new shirt was quickly procured and the dog shirt will no longer be in the "regular laundry" rotation. Such a mistake cannot happen again.
Bleh. That's what you get for sharing clothes with your dog.
It's a good thing our big stinky dog is such a sweetheart...although I will not miss the days of wearing Z's shirts once this baby arrives and the belly disappears, I know Olive will be a little bit sad to not have her favorite headrest. Hopefully she'll be as sweet to the baby as she is to the belly...