When are you due?

It has happened. It was inevitable. The first perfunctory gasp when I answered a stranger that yes, indeed, I'm not due to give birth until FEBRUARY. Thanks to my size, the way I carry, my husband's genetic predisposition to create sturdy, strapping boys that grow inside a (albeit long) petite and let's just say it: delicate frame, I will pocket nearly 100 more gasps or comments of the like over the next 19 weeks. The worst part is that they're warranted. I denied that fact the first time around, magically gazing into the mirror and simply seeing pregnant me, which was normal for me and nothing to do with some crazy pregnant-woman standard. This time, having come out the other side and looked back at pictures of what "pregnant me" actually looked like I can certainly see why that shape (reminiscent of a grape stacked on top of an orange, perched on two toothpicks) would incite rude gasps, chuckles and loud monosyllabic exclamations like "wow!", "whoa!", and "no!" That last one is one of my favorites. Really? You think I'd joke about this?

So it's begun. The season in which I try to be rubber while complete strangers throw sticks and stones at me that they haven't even realized are destructive weapons. The good news for both sides is that my skin is thicker this time around. I've emerged from denial and can almost laugh with them...at least for now. I'll check back in after 50 more shocked reactions, 15-20 more pounds of weight-gain, and 10-15 more weeks of unintentional verbal abuse. We'll see who's laughing then. Until then, when/if you see me refrain from using words like "enormous" (or any variation of it). Mostly because I'm not...yet...so you should save up or you'll run out of adjectives by the time January hits and it really is true.