And so it begins: the vast over-estimation of my baby's gestational age. I think I'm a little more relaxed about it this time around than I was the first two. With the first two I was very snappy when people would say things like, "You're about to pop, aren't you," (during my 6th month). Or, "Are you sure there's only one in there?"
I would snap back, "Don't you know you're not supposed to say things like that to a pregnant woman? It's really rude."
This time, though, I know to expect it. I have big babies; I know this. I show early; okay, whatever.
I was at Lowe's today buying Michael's father's day present, and the cashier was this nice, young guy that said that his wife was due in December with their first baby. "Looks like you have one cookin', too," he happily notes.
"Yeah, it's my third," I say, obviously, since my two boys were in the shopping cart.
"Can I guess how far along you are," he very foolishly says. This guy has a death wish or something.
I started laughing at his naivety. He really must not have a lot of experience with pregnant women. "No, no," I say, still laughing, "since it's my third I started showing very early. For you own good you shouldn't try to guess."
"Five months," he blurts out. Oh dear. He was even given the information that I was showing early since it was my third kid. And he still guessed five months. ::sigh::
"Eleven weeks," I say, now embarrassed and ready to run out of the store hiding my big belly behind the shopping cart. "But it's my third, you know, and you show early with the third," I try to reiterate.
Oh well. Maybe I should just start lying. I wonder how that would go over. ;)