My best friend Molly used to remark that I had ostrich tendencies. Because I couldn't see other people, I sort of assumed they couldn't see me. It's the "head in the sand" principle, but without the sand. More times than I cared to count, I learned the hard way that indeed, people could see me. And hear me. Make note: If you roll your eyes and say something unflattering about somebody, that person will inevitably be standing right next to you. At least, if you are me, that's how it happens.
The ostrich effect also does not extend to my pregnant belly. For the first six months of my pregnancy, I didn't show at all. This is partly due to the fact that I don't like wearing tight fitting clothes, so most of my wardrobe is loose fitting. The better to conceal a baby bump. About three weeks ago though, that all changed. All of a sudden, I looked like a pregnant person. I could feel the gradual changes of course, but as long as my pants still fit, I figured no one else knew. And it isn't as though my pregnancy was a secret, it's more like it was a joke that I didn't think the rest of the world was in on yet. Turns out, they were. This was made clear to me when a maintenance worker in my building brought me some of his wife's maternity clothes. Apparently, they needed the room, she was done with them, and they didn't know anyone else to give them to. I think that is incredibly kind, and I am grateful, but I hardly know our maintenance guy. I have certainly never conversed with him about my pregnancy. Is it that obvious? I am moved by the number of people who have offered to give or let me borrow their maternity clothes, baby clothes, or other baby gear. It's like I've been given a key to the employee lounge where all the nice people hang out. It has perhaps been the best thing about being pregnant so far.
No strange people have put their hands on my belly yet the way I've been warned they will do. For that, I am also grateful because I won't be putting up with any of that, no matter how well meaning and innocent the gesture. The only person allowed to touch my belly unannounced is Michael, which he does pretty much every time I am within reach of him. I'm not able to stand sideways in front of a mirror and gauge my pregnant progress, but counting the number of times Michael touches my belly is probably just as accurate, not to mention sweeter. Everyday now, I feel bigger and bigger, convinced that if I could look at myself sideways in a mirror, the effect would be carnival like. Maybe not, but it sure feels that way.
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I say incredibly inappropriate things all the time in front of the people I am saying them about, and I can definitely see them. That makes me laugh because my grandma is deaf and assumes the same thing, she doesn't realize that just because people don't know sign language doesn't mean that can't read facial expressions or put together what "fat" or "stupid" looks like in ASL. I'm the only person who appreciates it because she loves me and leaves me out of her attacks.
I have to admit, I am one of the scary belly grabbers. I never do it to people I don't know, but when the people I work with get huge I am grabbing their belly and making obnoxious noises before I can even control myself. I usually add a disclaimer about me not having any normal social boundaries.
The phone is a Verizon Flipshot. It reads my text messages to me, it has a number readout option if you're dialing, and it reads something else out, I forget. Also, it has a voice message option where if you want to text you can speak the words into the phone. It could probably be very useful if Gerry didn't send me tons of explicit texts just so he could hear the computer voice lady read them out.
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