Rounding Up: A Style Rebirth

But my understated uniform coupled with new, alien dimensions? My first thought: This can't be good. For the first four months, I stuck with my regular clothes, relying increasingly on my most flowy dresses since my bust immediately swelled two cup sizes. (On an especially fun day at the New York lingerie shop Intimacy, I realized that my bra options were limited to feats of engineering that might have originated at MIT.)

Blessedly, though, my second trimester coincided with a megatrend of cocoon and tent shapes. So, right around the time I started pushing up my belts to empire heights, I did something that even my most fashion-obsessed, spendthrift friends couldn't fathom. I bought four Marni dresses: two floral, one ruffled hot pink, one in thick khaki canvas. The slightly voluminous shapes were flattering, especially with removable belts, and the fabrics—cotton or washed silk—were structured enough to help avoid frumpiness. By gestation's end, I would add always-flattering draped jersey looks from Anne Valérie Hash and Rick Owens and a fluid floral Chloé dress to the roster—three designers I'd previously never worn. I shopped with a sort of what the hell? daring. If something didn't work on me, I figured I could blame it on my pregnant figure.

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