A Mommy Story

While in line at the cafe at work today:

Woman: Wow, look at you – you’re ready to pop! When are you due?

Me: Yesterday.

Woman: Oh, that must be awful to be past due! Are you in a lot of pain?

Me: (trying to avoid this conversation) I’m a little sore, but it’s not bad.

Woman: Well, what are you waiting for? Why not cut that baby out and get it over with?

Me: *blink blink*

Possible responses that flash by in my head:

Gee, I’m not so fond of major abdominal surgery.

Yeah, damn that little brat for being one day past the arbitrary date set by a calendar! I’ll show her who’s in charge!

My doctor has advised me not to take advice from idiot strangers with no medical background.

Huh, why didn’t I think of that? Got a knife?

Tried that once – not for me.

It’s a baby, not a tumor to be cut out at will.

Oh, that useless brain in your head must be awful! Why not just cut it out and get it over with?

What I actually say:

Me: (resisting urge to lecture on the complication risks of elective c-sections) She’ll come when she’s ready.

Sometimes I hate that little filter between my brain and mouth, especially when dealing with people who clearly have no filter. I mean, really – who asks something like that?

I think at this point I’d rather wear a shirt that says, “Just awkwardly fat, not pregnant” to avoid these types of conversations.