Okay, people, strangers are starting to call me fat. STRANGERS.
Scene: Baking isle of neighborhood grocery store (the irony here is not lost on me)
Jenni is perusing the birthday cake candle and decoration display, totally minding her own business, if not taking up more than her fair share of isle space.
Stranger: Oooooh, girl. How many months are you?
Jenni (turns, rubs belly): I'm due tomorrow. So, all of them.
Stranger (eye visibly widen, as if to take in my girth): Oh, my! Is it a boy?
Jenni (shrugs, smiles)
Stranger: I bet it's a boy. You always get REAL BIG with boys, don't you? I have two at home.
Jenni (trying not to beat stranger with five pound bag of sugar): I have a boy at home too. I didn't think I'd get any bigger than I got with him. But here I am.
Stranger (averting gaze, backing away slowly): But you carry it REAL well, though.
Jenni (putting down sugar, beginning to leave): Thanks. See ya.
Stranger (nervously scanning the isle for witnesses): See ya. Good luck.
Strangers are calling me fat. The general public FEARS me. At dinner last night, every single person that walked by me said, "Excuse me," as though there was not enough room to pass me and my gigantic self.
I am no longer large and lovely. I'm just large. Frighteningly large.
Can I please be done now?