EasyFeet: For those no longer willing or able to bend down and reach their own feet.
The best part is at about 1:15 when she talks about the high arch for "pudgy" feet, though I suppose that is a more common condition among those who can't be bothered to wash their feet unless there's a product that will do it for them with little to no effort. Seriously HSN ladies, is it that hard to either lift your feet up to the side of the shower or bend down and give a little scrub? Why not buy one of those little shower foot rests that makes it easier?
I am like 8 months pregnant, and I am still capable of washing my own feet. That is not to say I haven't been tempted to outsource my foot washing to a sad little scrubber with "9 suction cups!" but I certainly am not spending $25.00 on such a thing until the day I get my free Rascal.
The Slobstopper: For adult babies.
I saw this on Hulu and didn't think it was real, but if you go to the website, it's totally there. Can you imagine a level of shamelessness where you're willing to put this thing on, even if you're just in your car? And by the time you get to that point, are the clothes you'll be wearing really worth saving from a coffee stain? I get the feeling you might be wearing a Stadium Pal underneath them anyway (also shockingly real).
And while such accessories are abandoned in childhood because the very definition of adulthood denotes the ability to eat and drink without soaking your clothing in leftovers, I have become acutely aware of the difficulty adulthood poses in this particular area. Pregnant women are notoriously clumsy, and I'm no exception. I drop everything. Since I, like most pregnant women, also have a large protruding belly, my shirts have recently become repositories for all kinds of food and drink particles that miss my mouth.
A stranger actually pointed and laughed at me when Tim had to tell me I'd decorated myself with frozen yogurt. I've been going through Spray'n'Wash at ten times normal speed. "Rewear," that invaluable part of any limited maternity wardrobe/lexicon, is disappearing, and I am feeling the pain. Still, at $15 a pop, I think I'll stick to the public embarrassment of a yogurt stain instead of switching to the humiliation of wearing a giant bib.
Pajama Jeans: For those sitting on the last ledge before rock bottom.
I think people have already said what needs to be said about these things. But as horrifying as it is to think of wearing sweats with a stretch waist and "mock fly," I can't help but think, "Yes, it IS hard to fit into regular jeans . . . and I HATE when they leave marks in my belly pooch!" I fantasize about slipping into stretchy pajama jeans, tucking my postpartum jellybelly into the waistband, and hiding the entire mess under that sexy gray T-shirt (a whole outfit!). Forget losing the weight, toning my tummy, working down the sizes until I'm back to my ideal weight—I could just live in pajama jeans. I wouldn't even have to change clothes when I get in and out of bed.
I'm starting to see a whole new lifestyle forming for me.