Okay, Now I Must Really Look Pregnant

Oh, the seventh month of pregnancy. I'm just starting to recall the discomfort brought on by the third trimester, both physical and social. These days I find myself grunting my way through bending down to pick things up off the floor, including this morning's pile of swept up kitchen crumbs. A friend suggested training Eamon to pick things up, which works in terms of his toys and other things that get dropped, but unfortunately his motor skills are not yet refined enough to handle a valet broom and dustpan. So, for now, I'm resorting to sounding like Serena Williams at the French Open.

Aside from the business of bending over, there is the business of being out and about and getting comments from people, including relatives with awkward or developing social skills. The other night at a family party, I had not one but two nephews look at my belly -- which is probably hard for them to avoid as it is eye level to them, at 8 and 6.5 years of age -- and ask, "Are you pregnant?" Both were equally matter-of-fact and grown up about the question; I was both impressed and amused.

On the flipside of that charming query is the observation made by a certain relative who has a knack for saying things she might deem in her head as conversation starters, but that are, in reality, insults. An example from our first meeting a few months after my wedding: "Hi,...you've gained some weight, huh?" The other night, it was, "Wow, you look like you're ready to go, but you're not actually ready to go." Why, thank you, for telling me I look to be roughly 40 weeks pregnant when I've actually still got ten weeks to go. It's comments like that that really make the time fly!