Say What?

I know I have blogged about this before but I remain in awe at the things people will say to you when you are pregnant.  Its like just because you got knocked up some people forget they still have to abide by societal norms and general social etiquette. 

The other night - it was actually like two weeks ago, I have become incredibly lazy in all parts of my life including the ol' blog -- me and the hubs had to attend an epidural class.  You are probably wondering what this is because apparently the hospital here is the only one in the whole world who requires this.  But its a class wherein you go and learn about epidurals and then sign an informed consent form that you have to have to get an epidural once you are in labor.  And word on the street is that if you don't have your white consent form you aint gettin' an epidural.  So, just to be on the safe side, we signed up for the April class - Mama don't want to feel nothing during this whole labor/delivery nonsense. 

Anywho, as we make our way into the hospital, an elderly lady perched in a wheelchair just inside the door to the hospital greets us with a smile with which, of course, we return people observing general social norms usually do.  Then, the wench says to me, "Gurrrrrllll, you already got the weeble wobbles." Say what?? The weeble wobbles? Do you mean to say that this is what I remind you of?

Awesome.  At least I can still weeble wobble, Cankle Marie with your orthopedic shoes. Strike that - that is an ugly thing to think about an elderly woman in a wheelchair with no ankles to speak of.  But I mean seriously folks, don't ever tell a very pregnant, very waddley woman that she has the weeble wobbles, especially in front of her husband.  Because for a solid week after that, Robby was all jokes about the weeble wobbles.  Made me want to weeble wobble him.  And it really added fuel to the fire that was already lit by his earlier question to me --

Back up a few days and I will relay the most sensitive and loving question my sweet, dear husband has ever asked me (Robby, I know you will be reading this, and you don't probably want me blogging about you, but you undyng concern about my well being cannot go without public praise)

As I was again apparently waddling to the car through a very long and hot parking lot, Robby looked at me and asked me why I was walking like that, you know with my legs spread apart and all waddley like?? Say what sweet hubby of mine?  Why am I waddling through this parking lot like there is something between my legs?  Because there is something between my legs - its a combination of the child you helped produce and my inner thighs which have grown to be so thick that I am seriously concerned about chafing at this point. I mean my legs look like someone taped one of those big turkey legs you get at the fair to the inside of each of my thighs. I am going to have to start wearing biking shorts to just cut down on the friction - either that or continue to weeble wobble every wear I go.  OR maybe I can go borrow Cankle Marie's wheelchair for the next ten weeks.

And finally, if one more person asks me how far along I am (to which I always politely reply the appropriate amount of time minus like a week to make myself feel better) and then get this kind of shocked and horrified expression and respond oh, you have a lot longer to go or oh really that much longer or any other form of the phrase holy crap fatso you are going to be freaking huge by then, I am going to jump you.  I mean get it together folks. Learn to control your facial expressions before you question me on my due date. Oh, and weird guy from Monday - telling a woman who just told you she isn't due until the end of June that she looks miserable already and its going to be a long ten weeks is reason enough for me to slit your tires.  If I could bend over that low.  Your gut hangs out further than mine and you look miserable too and you have a lifetime to go judging by the size of that donut you are shoveling in your mouth. 

Say what?