“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.”
Since K and I can check off the first two, we have been bombarded with questions regarding that last one. Questions, startling statements and outright demands (my grandmother really would like to have another great-grand, even though she already has 15!). I have been questioned so many times about the not-so-impending bundle of joy that I no longer can laugh it off. Or even smile. I think my expression is downright evil now since most people immediately try to retract it upon catching a glimpse of my outraged visage.
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be so aggravated by the topic if I hadn’t started hearing the questions about 6 weeks after tying the knot. I suspect a number of people believed I was already knocked up when we were married on October 24th of last year (yup, almost a year now… whoop, whoop!!!). I can understand why.
I didn’t actually get my engagement ring until a little over a week before our wedding. We married at City Hall, which raised quite a few eyebrows since I have four pastors in my family, including my Dad. However, I’m pretty sure many PK’s out there can understand why I would not want to involve my ministerial family in one of the most stressful days of my life. I probably would’ve murdered one of them. We also had less than 15 people present, and while I purchased my dress at David’s Bridal, it wasn’t even a wedding gown, but one of their special occasion dresses. Oh, and we (with many thanks to my best friend, Giddel) threw the whole thing together in less than two weeks. In hindsight, I can see why some people would catch a whiff of gun powder… from the outside, it had the trappings of a shotgun wedding.
Contrary to some nosey people’s belief, our wedding should be filed under “S” for small, not shotgun. Neither K or I were being held up while taking our vows.
In reality though, no one was forcing us to get married (both sets of parents tried to dissuade us to wait to have a bigger affair), and I was not even close to being in the family way. But as I mentioned already, people assumed, so by the beginning of December, I was having hands rub my belly and co-workers cooing about when I was due. I, calmly removed their hands, and informed them they were feeling the result of eating way too much over Thanksgiving. That was flab, not a fetus.
Unfortunately, the nosiness did not stop there. By the time February rolled around, acquaintances and friends had gotten in on the act. I was told my breasts were getting larger (this normally would make me happy since I’ve worn the same bra-size since 11th grade), but so were my hips (this never makes me happy). Certainly, I was expecting now (I might add, I was married just four months folks… not four years, but four MONTHS!)? I think this was around the point I could no longer laugh or smile but instead remained stone faced. I responded, still calmly, that no, I was not pregnant, and if they’d like to come with me to the ladies room, I’ll gladly show them the soiled sanitary pad I had on… Ok, so I didn’t say that part, but I wanted to. Actually, I just answered frostily “no.”
This past summer, some of the initial questioners circled back to check in (“Nope, still not preggers”), and aggravated that no baby was forth coming, decided to share birth control failure stories based on TLC’s “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”. This show, by the way, is so terrifying even a celibate friend of mine shared with me recently that after watching, she gets nervous. When people pull the I-saw-it-on-a-basic-cable-channel-show-so-it must-be-the-Bible-truth-meaning-you-are-pregnant-too-but-don’t-know-it card, I have learned to just fold. They obviously know more about me then-me.
My innocent love of wearing tunics and baby doll tops have been misconstrued by the Baby Bump Brigade of actually being… dum dum dum!… baby-concealers!
Alas, though, it is September 22nd, and Autumn begins officially today. And to the astonishment of Alisha Belly Bump Watchers, I’m still not looking more rotund (although, still very full in the hips). As our one year anniversary approaches, my uterus is being scrutinized more than President Obama’s healthcare reform. So let me, using this blog as a platform, make this astoundingly clear. I AM NOT PREGNANT, JUST FAT.
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