It’s not you, it’s me- I’m pregnant.

It is not easy working with the public when someone is inside of you, kicking unidentifiable inner body parts you didn’t even know you had. Trying to come up with solutions to problems for customers when you are pretty sure your “craw” has just been located by a foot (or hand) is near impossible. When I wasn’t showing, this was a real problem. I was “that one”. The one you didn’t want helping you. “I’ll wait for so-and-so.” Fine. Good. Wait for so-and-so. I’ve got my own problems, namely the future UFC fighter that’s already training 10 hours a day in my soccer ball sized uterus!

Here's what I imagine is going on in there.

It really took forever for me to pop out. 5 1/2 months and nobody even asked if I was pregnant. Now, I’m not complaining. I was so worried with my height (I’m 5’1) that I was just going to explode in the weight department. Luckily, so far this has not been the case. But once I started to show, I took to wearing very obvious maternity clothes at work. This is an absolute ploy on my part. People need to know what they are dealing with. I’m not some moseying dummy, I’m just pregnant.

Usually, it is not an easy feat to deal with the public day in and day out.  Now that I’m showing, things have changed. It’s actually been a kind of a nice talking point. Most everyone seems to be so happy for me and can’t wait to ask me a million questions, and share their experiences. So far this is not annoying for me. I know many pregnant women complain about the intrusion and the unwanted advice, but I welcome it.

Of course being me, things had to get weird. Just yesterday I had an African woman with a very thick accent throwing out blessings like beads at Mardi Gras, touching my stomach and rejoicing. “GOD BLESS YOU! GOD BLESS YOU! GOD BLESS YOU!” each time touching my belly. While kind of sweet, I have to say, it was a little awkward.

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