Yeah, so, it’s getting crowded in there, and by “in there” I mean my uterus.
The spawn is getting big, and there’s just not enough room in there for him to kick and move like he’s used to. So now, when he does move it feels way more intense, and my entire belly moves. Everyone and anyone can watch the spawn move at this point. It’s a show the whole family can enjoy.
While I’m sitting on the couch, the spawn is doing The Hustle in there, and my entire belly is feeling the disco beat. So, I try to alert David so he can see the show, but that’s when the spawn decides to take a break. It reminds me of this:
I’m starting to think we should name this kid Michigan J. Frog.
So anyway, one of the other random things about pregnancy that I wasn’t expecting is all the questions, comments and advice from random strangers. Pretty much everywhere I go someone will ask me how far along I am, ask if it’s a boy or girl or offer some advice.
About the boy or girl question: Most of the time people say, “You are having a boy, huh?” When I tell them I am, they say, “You’re carrying really high.” It’s an old wives’ tale that if you are carrying your baby really high up, it’s a boy. In this case, the old wives’ tale is correct, confirming this theory for everyone that asks me.
Anyway, my point … what was my point? Oh yeah, strangers talk to me all the time now. Before I got knocked up I attracted every weirdo on the street anyway. My red hair is like a beacon for crazy people. I couldn’t walk anywhere in San Francisco without some crazy guy yelling, “Hey Red! Check this out” while they waved their junk at me. It’s sad and strange that I got used to it.
Now that I’m obviously pregnant, the weirdos tend to leave me alone. I actually feel safe walking around at night, like even crazy people wouldn’t be so evil as to harass/mug/kill a pregnant lady. The people who talk to me now aren’t necessarily crazy people. I guess as a pregnant lady I look very approachable.
On Sunday, mighty, mighty good man David and I dropped some clothes off at Goodwill. After our drop off, we wandered around the shop. I like to look at donated coffee mugs. I hunt to find the ones with pictures of other people’s kids on it, and I always debate buying it, because I think it would be hilarious to drink out of a coffee mug with photos of strangers’ kids on it in the office.
Coworker: “Are those your kids?”
Coworker: “Oh, a niece and nephew?”
Coworker: “Friends’ kids?”
[Coworker silently backs away.]
While we were at Goodwill, three different people congratulated us on the baby and asked questions. One woman suggested we make everyone who wants to hold the baby get a whooping cough vaccination. When we left, David said, “There’s a lot of, umm, friendly people in there.”
“Welcome to my world, my good man. I get that pretty much everywhere I go these days.”