First, a little background.
The first time was 3 and a half years ago, during our honeymoon. Not sex, oh, aren't you silly! The first time someone asked me when I was DUE.
We were in Eddie Bauer. A sweet old lady at the register. I had picked out two shirts (NOT MATERNITY, mind you) and out it came. And what I have to say to that, is SCREW THE ELDERLY. They get away with way too much obnoxious shit. I've gone back and forth over whether I should really have been pissed at this woman, and today I'm making it official, she's an ass-hat.
People can be fat. This is America, and we are surrounded by fat. Now, maybe when the elderly were our age, more women looked like they were starving and such, but if you can't get with the changing program, maybe you shouldn't be driving to work everyday. You are a danger to society. And my feelings. And, this was 30 some pounds ago.
We spent two hours after that sitting in the car while I wailed. I mean, I let loose. I was on my honeymoon. I was supposed to be happy. And I only weighed like 170-ish. Here's an idea... if you aren't CERTAIN someone has a human parasite in their uterus, keep your mouth shut. You too, old people. Not that they are reading this. They can't use the internet. Eventually, Brad dragged me into the Dixie Stampede. Yee-haw.
You just don't know how horrible it is unless it happens to you. Good for you if it hasn't.
Then it happened again, I don't remember exactly when. Maybe about 2 years ago? Maybe less. I'm at a local grocery store. Pill-head idiot I graduated with is cashier. Brad is with me once again. She says something to me, and I misheard her, probably because I wanted to. After some confusion, oh... wait a minute. She is saying congratulations. But I wanted to crawl under a rock and die. "Nope, just fat." That is what I have to say to people I know.
If I don't know the person, I've found it's a lot more fun to say "only 3 more months!" so at least we don't both walk away embarrassed. One old person wanted to know boy or girl and I said, I'm old fashioned, it's a surprise, which really tickled her old ass pink.
It especially sucks because well, I wish I were. I wish all this was just for that. Not the case.
Which brings me to the confession that while on our vacation last week, before fatpocalypse began, after eating mucho Mexican food and alcohol, I walked with Brad back up the strip to our motel... and didn't even TRY to suck it in. I let it all hang the eff out. And I developed a slight waddle. Hand on my back ever so subtly at times. I didn't have to fake being winded or bloated, cause I sure as hell was.
Warm smiles. Couples nudging one another as if to say, awww, look at that, that will be us one day. People got out of my WAY. Smiles smiles smiles. It was kinda cool, in an absolutely disgusting kinda way. Brad said, "yeah, that's funny... but you're going to cry yourself to sleep tonight." "Duh," I responded, and we laughed. It was better than making myself sick trying to suck it in. And I paid for it the next day with intense food poisoning.
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