I've Come Unbuttoned

As I sit at my computer, my pants are unbuttoned. Not because I'm some weird sicko, but because I am so incredibly bloated that nothing but the elastic-banded-sweatshirt-type of pants are fitting right now. I guess the fertility meds and the IUI/trigger thingies make your ovaries swell up like a balloon.

So, I sit here at work, hoping no one can tell that I've failed to button my suit pants, but have instead, folded the unhooked bits over, and then pulled my shirt over that.

In addition, my suit jacket is really being tortured. It's stretched oh-so-unflatteringly across my midriff. If I leave it unbuttoned, it's a dead-giveaway for the aforementioned compromised pants.

I'm pretty sure I'm fooling no one. They just politely stare at my chin, refusing to look anywhere near my mid-section for fear my zipper may fail altogether and my pants will end up around my ankles.