Lately I’ve been a little sensitive about my size. I am a pregnant lady, no doubt about it. And this is my third time being a pregnant lady so I should be used to it by now.
Every day last week, every day, sometimes twice in a day, someone has made a comment about my body.
“Whoa! Are you having twins?”
“Holy cow. Any day now, right?”
“Oh my, you are gigantic. Does it hurt to walk?”
One lady in church, across a crowded room said, “Oh my gosh, Ann Dee! You are huge! When is that baby coming?”
I sort of flipped out right then.
TWO MONTHS! I yelled. TWO MONTHS!! ( the whole room staring at me now). AND IT’S NOT TWINS! I added, for effect.
She nodded. Okay. Okay, she said, obviously scared.
I turned, my head held high, and waddled out of the room.
In the car I told my husband about it.
I may have over-reacted a few minutes ago, I said. About a comment someone made about my belly.
You? Over-react? Never, he said.
Ha ha ha.
The day before we had been out raking up leaves, getting ready for spring. I’d leaned over to pick up a pile and my pants split. My only comfortable semi-wearable (and admittedly three pregnancies-old and perhaps worn a few too many days in a row) maternity cargo pants. Split.
Cam and the boys looked at me. What? Cam said.
Look,I said, showing him the hole.
You just did that?
Yes, I just did that.
Then he started laughing. LAUGHING.
Uh huh, he said.
You. Are. Laughing.
He nodded. Kept raking. Why would you wear those pants to do yard work anyway? You should have changed into sweats or something.
The boys were staring at the hole in my pants and I was seething.
Later. When we’d moved to the front yard, I said, sweat pants?
That’s what you say when your pregnant wife has an extremely dramatic event happen to her.
Extremely dramatic event?
What did you want me to say?
Maybe something like, oh I’m so sorry. Or, it doesn’t matter. It was probably just the way you bent over. Something, you know sympathetic. Why do you have to always respond to me like a man?
He looked at me. Why did you split your pants like a man?
Let’s all take a moment to think about this question.
What does this have to do with writing? Nothing. So why am I writing it? I don’t know. Did I start laughing after he said this? yes. Do I think I’m a little irrational and overly-dramatic? Maybe. Does that make me a better writer? Probably not. I just wanted to warn anyone who may see me in the next eight weeks . . . beware and whatever I say, don’t take it personally. I’m not responsible.
P.S. Who wants a writing marathon?
Postedit: I have to say, I’ve been feeling bad about making my husband seem like some kind of beast. He’s not. A beast. We’d been having a laughy day and this incident (though I’m sure the writing doesn’t show it) was pretty funny. Cam knows me well enough to not make a comment like that if I’m on the verge of tears or if he knows I am really feeling sad. On another day, splitting my pants probably would have brought tears but on that day, it was just one more thing. This is probably the type of story I should tell in person rather than write on the internet. Or maybe not tell at all. Sometimes I can’t help myself.