Tar-jay

I have to admit, I love Target. Really, if I were Britney Spears, with all of her money, I would be hitting up the Target at 3 am in a manic haze, too.

I went there one day when Henry was two months old. I think I only needed Neutrogena face wash and some diapers, but I drove to El Cerrito because driving on the freeway made it sort of an event (excitement is so hard to come by when you're at home with an infant).

When I got there, unshowered and in the same clothes I'd been in for three days, I found other moms--at least a dozen of them, all slowly pushing their infants aimlessly around the aisles. Three people stopped to talk to me.

Also, there is a Starbucks.

No drink-holders on the carts, though. Management really needs to put two-and-two together there.

Target is also a fabulous source for maternity wear, because at least 80 percent of their regular clothes fit pregnant women, and the Isaac Mizrahi stuff is pretty hot, even if it is under $20. Today I got myself a blue shift-dress for $17.99.

Their actual maternity clothes are revolting. There are four or five giant posters around the maternity section featuring pregnant models in gorgeous clothes. But they don't actually have any of the poster clothes available in the store. Nearly everything there looks like an oversized pillowcase with a strategically placed drawstring, made from rejected IKEA fabrics. I can't believe Liz Lange puts her name on that crap.

I was actually at Target this morning to find a swimsuit for prenatal water aerobics.

You know what I hate about pregnant swimsuit shopping? My ass. It would be fine if it just got huge. I could work a J-Lo look. But when I'm pregnant it gets huge and flabby and today I even saw cellulite. I've been doing butt exercises for weeks now, and I still look like an overweight 80-year-old from the rear.

I actually bought a "skirtini" bottom. I look like I'm borrowing my grandma's swimsuit. At least I look like I might have a nice butt under that grandma's swimsuit. I am keeping the mystery alive.

You know what I love about pregnant swimsuit shopping? Breasts. I don't usually have any, so now that I'm jiggling 36-Bs, I feel like a porn star. I look smokin' hot from about the ribcage to my neck.

Oh, after Target I went to Elephant Pharmacy to get my awful all-natural haircolor so I don't deform the baby while covering up my grey.

The woman at the checkout counter was all nice until I told her I'd need a bag for the things I was buying. Then she seemed to get all irritated with me. Damn Berkeleyites. I have to remember to bring a tote bag next time I go.