Can You Please Stop Asking Me If I’m Pregnant?
How a simple question can setback years of self-love.
We were getting ready to go on our dream trip to Ireland and Scotland. In what universe does that happen for a 38-year-old mother of two under 10 and her husband?
This lucky gal!
As we loaded our luggage into the shuttle that would transport us from the long-term airport parking facility to the airport, I climbed up inside and found a seat in the back by my dude.
“When are you due?” Some random woman in the middle seat asked.
“Excuse me?” I asked, thinking I must’ve misheard her.
She repeated, “When are you due?”
I looked at my husband, who was wide-eyed and just as shocked as me. He knew this could go one way or the other. But, much to both of our relief, I simply told the middle-aged, short-hair, waif of a woman, “I’m not pregnant.”
She offered some sort of platitude, but the drive to the airport was awkward nonetheless.
Once we’d passed security and had a moment to sit down, I said to my husband, “I just had a slice of pizza and some mac n cheese,” stopping and continuing, “…and this shirt is flowy. I wanted to be comfortable for the flight and not hungry so I don’t get…
