I’m standing in line at the grocery store. The cashier says, “When are you due?” I respond, “5 weeks.” She says, “Wow. It’s going to be a big baby!”
I’ll give you a moment to digest exactly how rude that statement is.
Okay, moment’s over, now I get to unload.
So, first of all, the part of me that is like my mother wants to respond, “No, you idiot, I’m just fat!” Of course, I don’t do that because I have a 10 year old daughter with me and I’m trying not to make her die of embarrassment. Yet.
Second, it’s probably true. All my babies are big. Is this something that I look forward to? Do I hope that in 5 weeks I’ll be trying to squeeze out a fully grown adult male ready to shave? Do I look forward to the whole “slight pressure” thing, as though giving birth to this 10 pound baby will feel just like stubbing a toe? Thanks for bringing that up, lady. I need chocolate.
Third, I’m glad my stomach was pointed at her and not my butt. All I need is some well-meaning statement about how big that’s getting.
Fourth, just because my belly protrudes does not make it public domain. I wish we’d go back to the whole Victorian-don’t-mention-it thing. And, besides, did I mention how large her stomach was getting? No, I did not. Well, I mean, I just did, but not to her face. Just on this private forum.