bite me... and other tales.

Went to breakfast with friends this morning and ran into another friends current boy (not boyfriend, mind you… just a guy she, um… enjoys). He was there with some friends who had a little girl about a month older than Lily. The mama was pregnant and I asked how far along she was. “The baby is due in May” she told me. “Mine too!” I replied.

Big pause followed by a somewhat icy stare directed at my mid-section.

“You don’t even look pregnant.”

“It was like this with Lily as well,” I explain, “I just looked fat until about 7 months!” I laugh, secretly thinking, BITE ME!

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather look pregnant than fat. I know I don’t look like a hideous white-trash girl, with rolls of fat bubbling over my ultra tight sweat pants and wife-beater tee, but I don’t know… I’d rather have people look at me and think, “awww… motherhood,” than “agggg! Eat a salad.” And what’s with the icy stare? Do you think I’m kidding about being pregnant? Do you think I’m one of those girls that looks instantly perfect after giving birth (I’m not, btw)? Do you hate me because I’m beautiful? What’s your damage?

I’m clearly reading too much into this.

AH HA! And that, my friends, is how you can tell I’m actually pregnant.

Or female.

Or PMS-ing.

OK, I got nothing.