I'm 36 weeks (and then-some) pregnant. I'm super fat now and the belly cannot be hidden. It causes people I don't even know to be super excited for me. Like, super excited. I'm not quite sure what it is about a pregnant woman that sends everyone around her into fits of happiness, but apparently a big, fat, baby belly will do that to people.
A baby belly has caused many a person to do crazy things... read here for my experiences the last time I was knocked up. This time, I'm experiencing something a little different. I have yet to have a stranger touch me, but it seems allllll the strangers want to know how excited I am. I walk through the grocery store, and inevitably, someone will stop me with all the usual questions:
Stranger: "Oh my goodness, look at you! Expecting a little one, are you?"
Me: "Yup, sure am!" (Force smile)
Stranger: "Wow, you must be due any minute!"
Me: "Well, still have a few weeks to go yet!" (Thanks, for noticing how fat I am)
Stranger: "You must be getting excited?" or "Are you excited?"
Me: "Uh-huh!"
Stranger: "Oh, how sweet your life will be once that little baby joins your world!"
Me: "So true, so true." (Fake smile, wave, walk away)
It's an innocent enough little conversation. Except when I'm out in public I seem to have it over, and over, and over again. I went shopping in Halifax with a girlfriend the other day, and even she commented on how many people stopped to question me. It's not that I'm an unfriendly person... I swear, for the most part, I am quite fond of the human race. Except, as people keep pointing out, I'm big, I'm tired, I can't reach my own toes, and I'm freaking tired of all the questions! Especially the last one... "are you excited?" Excited? Excited?!? Let's see shall we...
I was in line at the grocery store the other day, and the clerk just began ringing in my groceries. For some reason, Danny was not with me, but the girls were. Ella was in the cart, Gracie was standing beside me. The checkout clerk was carrying on the usual conversation with me. I smiled politely, and nodded at all the right times. In the meantime, Ella was grunting because I told her she couldn't eat the snacks I had just bought right this second. Gracie was saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy." I dropped my wallet. When I stood up, Ella had one hand in a grocery bag, popping grapes into her mouth. I told her not to touch the grapes, and she started crying. Gracie said, "Mommy, can I have a treat? I want a treat. Last time you got me a treat cause you were nice. Why can't I have a treat this time? I just want a treat?" I told Ella to stop crying, and she screams at me. Gracie tells Ella to stop crying, and since Ella hates to be told anything by Gracie, she screams "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" at Gracie at the top of her lungs. "How much longer do you have, dear?" the cashier asks. Gracie cries, "Mommy, Ella's not being nice to me!" and I scold Ella, "Ella, be nice!" and the same time, answering the cashier. "Oh, a few weeks," I say. Gracie steps in front of Ella, who deliberately kicks her in the head from her position in the shopping cart. Gracie starts crying, and Ella starts laughing. I rub Gracie's forehead and start to discipline Ella when I hear it, "You must be so excited." The cashier smiles at me. I stare at her with a look that I'm quite sure conveys that I think she must be out of her ever-loving mind, as Gracie screams and yells about Ella kicking her and Ella cries because Gracie has now hit her back. My mouth kind of gapes open for a second, as I stare at her, and I struggle to answer her. The kids are now both screaming and Gracie has dropped to her knees at the end of the aisle in her usual dramatic fashion. "Oh yes," I say. "So excited."
Don't get me wrong. We planned this baby. We want this baby. But dealing with catastrophic meltdowns in the grocery store is fairly easy right now, because I have two hands, and two kids. For now, one of the three is safely contained... inside my belly. He has no choice but to go where I go, and do what I do. Soon, that beautiful little boy will be here, and the only thing I will have control over is which boob to offer him as a sacrifice when he screams at me. In a matter of weeks, I will still only have two hands. But I will have three kids. That scene at the grocery store will replay, except this time, Baby Boy Ford will also be in that cart, and he will be covered in a poop from a blow-out diaper, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Of course, two years from now, Gracie will be even bigger than she is now. She will be even more helpful and caring and considerate. Ella will be growing into a little lady, and will have learned manners by then (or at least how to fake them!). Baby Boy will be walking, talking, and will no longer scream at the top of his lungs when he needs something because he will have learned how to communicate. The kids will be sleeping through the night, all of them, and Gracie will know how to pour bowls of cereal and turn on the TV on Saturday mornings. Now that is exciting!
But the God's-honest truth of the matter is simple math. Right now, there is Danny and me, and Gracie and Ella. We're even. In a month or so, there will be Danny and me, and Gracie and Ella and Baby #3.We are going to be outnumbered. I know we will still technically be bigger and stronger. But soon enough, these children will realize that they out-number us. They will find a way to use it to their advantage. They will team up. They will wear us down. And they will win. We will be weak, and overpowered, and exhausted. We will rue the day we decided to have three of these little creatures. Our friends will find us, after noticing we have been missing for a few days, collapsed on our living room floor, as our three children dance around us, their faces painted with war paint, candy, and chocolate sauce. Giggle-bellies will be playing over, and over, and over again in the background in an effort to drive us completely crazy, and there will be a lego fortress built in the corner of the living room, where the children will have their tribal meetings while deciding our fate. They will leave individual legos scattered across the floor for us to step on, to thwart any attempts at escape. This is our future, as the parents of three children, I am quite sure of it. And the truth is, I am terribly excited! :)
A baby belly has caused many a person to do crazy things... read here for my experiences the last time I was knocked up. This time, I'm experiencing something a little different. I have yet to have a stranger touch me, but it seems allllll the strangers want to know how excited I am. I walk through the grocery store, and inevitably, someone will stop me with all the usual questions:
Stranger: "Oh my goodness, look at you! Expecting a little one, are you?"
Me: "Yup, sure am!" (Force smile)
Stranger: "Wow, you must be due any minute!"
Me: "Well, still have a few weeks to go yet!" (Thanks, for noticing how fat I am)
Stranger: "You must be getting excited?" or "Are you excited?"
Me: "Uh-huh!"
Stranger: "Oh, how sweet your life will be once that little baby joins your world!"
Me: "So true, so true." (Fake smile, wave, walk away)
It's an innocent enough little conversation. Except when I'm out in public I seem to have it over, and over, and over again. I went shopping in Halifax with a girlfriend the other day, and even she commented on how many people stopped to question me. It's not that I'm an unfriendly person... I swear, for the most part, I am quite fond of the human race. Except, as people keep pointing out, I'm big, I'm tired, I can't reach my own toes, and I'm freaking tired of all the questions! Especially the last one... "are you excited?" Excited? Excited?!? Let's see shall we...
I was in line at the grocery store the other day, and the clerk just began ringing in my groceries. For some reason, Danny was not with me, but the girls were. Ella was in the cart, Gracie was standing beside me. The checkout clerk was carrying on the usual conversation with me. I smiled politely, and nodded at all the right times. In the meantime, Ella was grunting because I told her she couldn't eat the snacks I had just bought right this second. Gracie was saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy." I dropped my wallet. When I stood up, Ella had one hand in a grocery bag, popping grapes into her mouth. I told her not to touch the grapes, and she started crying. Gracie said, "Mommy, can I have a treat? I want a treat. Last time you got me a treat cause you were nice. Why can't I have a treat this time? I just want a treat?" I told Ella to stop crying, and she screams at me. Gracie tells Ella to stop crying, and since Ella hates to be told anything by Gracie, she screams "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" at Gracie at the top of her lungs. "How much longer do you have, dear?" the cashier asks. Gracie cries, "Mommy, Ella's not being nice to me!" and I scold Ella, "Ella, be nice!" and the same time, answering the cashier. "Oh, a few weeks," I say. Gracie steps in front of Ella, who deliberately kicks her in the head from her position in the shopping cart. Gracie starts crying, and Ella starts laughing. I rub Gracie's forehead and start to discipline Ella when I hear it, "You must be so excited." The cashier smiles at me. I stare at her with a look that I'm quite sure conveys that I think she must be out of her ever-loving mind, as Gracie screams and yells about Ella kicking her and Ella cries because Gracie has now hit her back. My mouth kind of gapes open for a second, as I stare at her, and I struggle to answer her. The kids are now both screaming and Gracie has dropped to her knees at the end of the aisle in her usual dramatic fashion. "Oh yes," I say. "So excited."
Don't get me wrong. We planned this baby. We want this baby. But dealing with catastrophic meltdowns in the grocery store is fairly easy right now, because I have two hands, and two kids. For now, one of the three is safely contained... inside my belly. He has no choice but to go where I go, and do what I do. Soon, that beautiful little boy will be here, and the only thing I will have control over is which boob to offer him as a sacrifice when he screams at me. In a matter of weeks, I will still only have two hands. But I will have three kids. That scene at the grocery store will replay, except this time, Baby Boy Ford will also be in that cart, and he will be covered in a poop from a blow-out diaper, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Of course, two years from now, Gracie will be even bigger than she is now. She will be even more helpful and caring and considerate. Ella will be growing into a little lady, and will have learned manners by then (or at least how to fake them!). Baby Boy will be walking, talking, and will no longer scream at the top of his lungs when he needs something because he will have learned how to communicate. The kids will be sleeping through the night, all of them, and Gracie will know how to pour bowls of cereal and turn on the TV on Saturday mornings. Now that is exciting!
But the God's-honest truth of the matter is simple math. Right now, there is Danny and me, and Gracie and Ella. We're even. In a month or so, there will be Danny and me, and Gracie and Ella and Baby #3.We are going to be outnumbered. I know we will still technically be bigger and stronger. But soon enough, these children will realize that they out-number us. They will find a way to use it to their advantage. They will team up. They will wear us down. And they will win. We will be weak, and overpowered, and exhausted. We will rue the day we decided to have three of these little creatures. Our friends will find us, after noticing we have been missing for a few days, collapsed on our living room floor, as our three children dance around us, their faces painted with war paint, candy, and chocolate sauce. Giggle-bellies will be playing over, and over, and over again in the background in an effort to drive us completely crazy, and there will be a lego fortress built in the corner of the living room, where the children will have their tribal meetings while deciding our fate. They will leave individual legos scattered across the floor for us to step on, to thwart any attempts at escape. This is our future, as the parents of three children, I am quite sure of it. And the truth is, I am terribly excited! :)
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