In pregnancy news, on Friday I’ll be 37 weeks pregnancy or “full term.” I closely resemble a ship in full sail. When I walk into a room, my belly precedes me by at least half an hour. This is the stage of pregnancy where my body acts like it’s preparing for the apocalypse – increasing blood volume, storing up ever drop of fat and retaining water like a camel hump.
It’s at this stage that old ladies start flocking to me, and men of almost all ages look away as quickly as possible less they witness something awful like my water breaking. College guys and single men in particular are profoundly uncomfortable in my presence. I’m like the physical representation of their worst nightmare. And since we live less than a quarter block away from a college campus, I can only assume from some choice facial expressions that I personally have inspired at least 15 acts of safe sex in the last two weeks alone.
At least I can count on them to never make a move to rub my baby belly.