face to face.

If we were to have a conversation right now, in person...

You would probably stare at my stomach for a few seconds before asking how far along I am (because you don’t read my blog and know already; we’re pretending here.)

I would respond that I’m a day short of 36 weeks.

Your eyes would shoot back to my stomach and you would announce that you never would have guessed, that I look so small

I’ll smile politely and refrain from saying, Everyone says that; way to be original. Because my husband likes my sass, and it makes my mother–in–law laugh, but some people just don’t get it. 

You may notice me rubbing my feet. And upon further inspection you might also notice that they are three sizes too big and that my toes look like small sausages. 

At this point, you might become concerned. Because my stomach is smaller than you think it should be and my feet are much larger. 

You won’t say anything about this, though. You’ll just try to take my mind off of it by asking if it’s a girl or a boy. And if we have a name picked out yet. 

After I tell you the names we’re thinking, I’ll probably make you pinky promise that you won’t steal them. Because identity theft is not a joke and it took us a long time to come up with those names; they’re technically our intellectual property. 

You might respond by laughing, but then you’ll see my face and realize just how serious I am. 

You’ll probably notice my stomach jumping a bit as we talk. You’ll ask if you can feel and you’ll sit there with your hand on my stomach for three minutes, just waiting. And she won’t move. An inch. And she does that to everyone (except Jordan on occasion) so please don’t be offended. You can’t expect her to be anything less than sassy with the genes she’s getting. 

The conversation will probably end somewhat awkwardly, as most ones like this often do, and we’ll part ways (hopefully in different directions. It’s always awkward to end a conversation only to find out that you’re both headed in the same direction; do you keep talking or ignore one another for the next five minutes as you walk eight feet apart?). Either way, please don’t mention the slight waddle I’ve developed, or my limp. 

And if you see my husband first, you’re welcome to have this conversation with him instead. Except don’t ask to feel his stomach. That would be weird. 

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You are wonderful.