June 29, 2009
For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I've become a head turner--double takes, triple takes, eyes the size of dinner plates, I get them all.
And it's probably not because I'm hot.
I personally think it has a lot more to do with the fact that lately I've preferred to exercise in the broad daylight, in a bright yellow volunteer t-shirt, that somehow makes me look pregnant in my ass and in my tea kettle.
Couple that with my very shiny spandex pants, and folks, I've become the stuff that highly disturbing dreams are made of.
Just this past weekend, after my run, when I was still in my skin tight get up, James told our neighbor that, "My Mom might have twins. Dat means two babies. She got one in her tummy and maybe one in her bum."
Thank you, James. Thank you so, so much.
Prior to this pregnancy, I wondered, on an almost daily basis, why so many larger-sized people seem to love to wear spandex pants. Now my friends, I completely understand. It's not about the love--it's comfortable, it fits, now shut your mouth and get out of my way or I'll eat you faster than a peanut butter cup.
I think it's funny when strangers stop my on the street to say things like, "Look at you exercising! You're so cute!" I just keep plodding along and I'm like, "Cute? I'm not so cute, I'm so hungry. And so full of pee. But thank you. Have a nice day."
Last night, I had a very different reaction from a very strange stranger. She was moping along in the rain, smelling like booze, letting her puppy poop all over the middle of the sidewalk (my pet peeve beyond all pet peeves). As I approached her, I stepped off the sidewalk to run on the shoulder of the road--partly to be polite, and mostly to avoid a run in with the dog doo.
When we were almost shoulder to shoulder, I offered a casual smile and she offered me the following comment: "You're gonna shake your baby and give it brain damage from runnin' like that."
I was confused and honestly thought I'd heard wrong, so I stopped, removed my earbuds and said, "I'm sorry, what?"
"You're givin' your baby brain damage from that."
"From what," I snottily demanded.
"From running," she said.
"Oh my word," I replied back, "I didn't realize that. Are you an obstetrician," I asked?
"A pediatrician," I offered?
"A child development expert?"
"No," she replied.
"So I guess that means you're just super opinionated," I confirmed?
"Geesh," I said, "You know? I'm not even pregnant. Show how much you know." (I threw it out there for dramatic effect)
She eyed me up and down, found that be very confusing, huffed, and kept on walking.
That line--the "I'm not even pregnant" line?--hasn't failed me yet, and honestly, I never expect that it will.
Today I'm feeling slightly to moderately guilt ridden for being such a sassy mouth to a total and complete stranger. Maybe she was having a bad day. Maybe she had just worked a double, dropped her paycheck in the mud, and had her hat stolen by an angry bird. I guess I'll never know.
I'm sorry random lady.