At just over 5 months along, it has begun. The comments. “Boy! You’re sure filling out, aren’t you?”
I could stop there and every woman who has been pregnant understands. But I’m in a poor enough mood today to rant. Do people not think I own or ever walk by a mirror? Do they think I haven’t forked out good money for ugly clothes that I’d never wear otherwise? Do they seriously think I don’t feel every muscular fiber in my midsection shredding? My joints popping out of place? My skin stretching so thin you can see right through it?
“It’s a girl. It’s a girl.”
I know I’m going to get this ALL the time since I’m not finding out the sex of our baby beforehand. But why do old ladies think they know so much? Just because you have grandkids doesn’t make you able to see right through my uterus and determine if my baby is a boy or a girl. It doesn’t matter if I’m carrying high, low, to the left side, or backwards. There’s a 50% chance either way, ladies!
And why do people think that my pregnancy is the ONLY thing I ever want to talk about? Political preferences? Personal finances? Deep, dark family secrets? Bring it on. This is my third time around and my expectancy isn’t nearly as exciting for me to talk about as you might think (although I guess I’m talking about it right now…).
I know I’m small. I know I carry straight out. I know I’m going to be humungous beyond belief. I can’t even walk halfway down the mall without cramping up and getting so sore I can’t go on. I’m stinkin’ hot all the time and what makes it worse is that there are no maternity clothes that fit me. Apparently, no one who is XS has EVER been pregnant in the history of mankind. I have to wear a camisole underneath everything just to keep covered up. So that’s 4, count them, FOUR layers I have to wear throughout this wicked summer.
And just think, it’s going to get soooooooo much worse before it’s over. Good luck to you all.