I am the walrus

As of today, I officially have 6 weeks (or less!) left in my pregnancy. My c-section is scheduled for August 2. While I hold out hope that I won't have to go that route, I'll admit I'm happy to have a firm end date this time around. Going a week overdue with Henry was no fun at all.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying all the side effects of late pregnancy--not the least of which is the daily barrage of comments about my condition. And the consensus opinion of the various neighbors, co-workers, random store clerks and other jackasses who can't mind their own business is. . . I'm huge! HUGE! Yes, my belly has swollen to proportions so freakish that people are shocked to hear that I'm not heading to the hospital RIGHT THAT MINUTE, since someone my size must be moments away from giving birth.

I've been having exchanges like this one for the last month:

"Wow--You look ready to pop! It can't be long now, can it?"

"Uh, actually I'm not due for another 10 weeks."

Awkward silence. Then a look of shock, followed by disbelief, followed by pity.

"Oh. Well. . . You look. . .Great! Really, really terrific. Beautiful, in fact.
Yeah, you look beautiful."

Or:
"REALLY?!? 10 more weeks! But you're SO BIG! My friend/sister/wife is due, like, tomorrow, and she's not half as big as you! Are you sure you're not having twins (snicker)? But it's amazing--you're ALL BELLY!"

I believe the "all belly" comment is supposed to make me feel better about the fact that I look like I swallowed the Hindenburg.

It doesn't.

Yep--all the comments about my massive hugeness are really getting to me. It's no surprise that I get offended when people make blatantly rude comments about my body. But people who say nice things bug me, too. At first I thought my irritation/burning rage about this stemmed from the fact that, in our culture, observations about the large size of a woman's midsection are pretty much never compliments. But now I think my discomfort with all comments about my condition stem from the fact that it just isn't normal to have your physical appearance (no matter what it is) be considered an appropriate topic for small talk with any given individual you encounter in the course of your day. That's what's making me crazy. See, I'm not an extrovert. I'm not an exhibitionist. I don't like making small talk about anything with people I don't know. And I really, really don't like making small talk about my body, my due date, or anything else so personal with the guy ringing up my groceries. It's just weird. And it happens several times a day. Can't we just talk about the weather?

As I get bigger and bigger over the next 6 weeks, I'll try to grow a thicker skin at the same time. Maybe I should just tell the strangers who harass me that I am in fact having triplets. Or that the swelling in my midsection is due to a benign tumor, not a baby. But those kinds of retorts just prolong the conversation--the last thing I want. No, I'll probably just start getting ruder and ruder with the Belly Talkers. If I remember correctly, that's what happened last time. Huge and surly. That's me.

It's gonna be a great 6 weeks.