Mommy....

Yesterday I went shopping for a new dress. Sam suggested that I find a new dress for church, as he is as sick as I am of what hangs in my closet. That meant I could throw responsibility to the wind and take the afternoon off--when I should really have been grading papers.
I went to Macy's. It is one of the nicer stores in our area. Indeed, there were lovely sales and lots to try on. I loaded up with about twelve items and headed for a dressing room. It can be a bit hard on the ego to try on some of today's dress designs, particularly for "women of substance" like me. As I squeezed myself into a garment that made my breasts point north and south, I was reminded of a picture I saw once, of some kind of torture by binding. I fought my way out of the bodice gripper and picked up a sensible type of skirt. Not to be confused with sensible shoes, this skirt looked appropriate and sensible for a middle-aged woman. Alas, it had some sort of loop affair at the waist and up between my legs that made me want to walk on my toes for comfort. As I struggled out of that one, I heard a woman and child enter and take the handicap stall at the front of the dressing room.
"Mommy," chirped a boy of about four, "This is pretty. Puhritty!"
"Yes, honey. Let's see if it looks nice on mommy."
I could heard rustling and zipping sounds as she worked her way into whatever it was.
"Oh my word," was her startled response as she apparently looked at herself in the mirror.
"Mommy, don't wear that" the budding designer reported. "It's too small for you. You have too big tummy."
"Yes honey." There was a don't-talk-so-loud quality to her response. "I'll find something else."
There was more rustling and hard breathing before finally I heard a "pfh!" and a zipper going down.
"What's the matter, mommy?"
"I couldn't get the zipper down. It's hard to reach." Mom was slipping out of the dress.
"Owww! Honey, don't push on me like that!"
"Why do you have shiny things on your tummy right there?" There was such innocence in his voice. Stretch marks, that must be what he's talking about. I glanced down at my own tummy, grateful not to have any.
"Mommy, why do you have such a big tummy?"
"Look at all the pretty colors on here, honey." There was intentional distraction in her voice. More rustling fabric sounds.
"Mommy, why are you fat?"
There was a long sigh. "Mommies have big tummies sometimes."
And so do women who don't have babies, I thought ruefully, as I replaced a skin-on-a-baloney dress on its hanger.
"Do you have a baby in it like Sarah's mommy?"
"No."
"Why? Why you can't fit that dress?"
By now this conversation had my full attention. I was just reaching for a death by polyester number and couldn't wait to hear her answer.
"Just because, honey."
"Oh....Can we go to the park now?" I could hear their stall door unlocking and junior deliberately scruffing his sneakers across the floor as he was directed out of the dressing area.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My ego felt suddenly robust. It was only me and the mirror, no little commentator.
Leaving the women's department, I passed a woman browsing through a rack of sale dresses. Whirling round and round next to her was a little brown-haired boy saying over and over, "Fat-fat-fat-fat-fat-fat....fat-fat-fat-fat-fat-fat-"