David looked at me the other day and said, “Mommy, the baby is taking a long time to come out.”
Then I had to sit down and rest because I was exhausted by how right he was.
When people ask me when I’m due, I always say, “In May” because the ambiguity seems deter unsolicited comments about the size of my body or whether I will or will not make it to my due date.
Then I smile, rest a hand on my belly, and before they can ask what day, I say “2018. I’m due May 2018.”
It’s my pregnancy joke. I tell it at least four times a day partially because it always gets a laugh, but mostly because I’m too tired to think of anything else. And also because it feels true. At this stage my due date seems very, very soon, and also very, very far off.
The baby is head down, its heart rate is great, and at my last appointment my doctor assured me that my belly is measuring right on target. When I said, “Are you sure? Have you seen my belly? A lady at Kroger wanted me to ask you if maybe I was having twins. There’s no way I’m not bigger than average.”
She exhibited great restraint and professionalism by not saying a word.
A few weeks ago we were at a party with some friends, and there was a particularly stunning woman there. She was tall, slender, and had long, shiny blonde hair draped over one shoulder. My friend was carrying her daughter and when the little girl caught a glimpse of the woman, she pointed and exclaimed, “ELSA!”
Can you think of a higher compliment? Toddlers are the most honest people on the planet, and Elsa is their Mecca and drug of choice. If it was possible to mainline Elsa, Target would be setting up an endcap with all the supplies. And selling out.
I’ve thought of that comment several times since because it was so, so funny. And then one of those mornings when I couldn’t remember my last shower, I was pulling my hair into a top bun and scowling into the mirror as I wondered, if a kid confused me with a Disney character, who would it be?