Yesterday was my “Due Date” for baby and the day came…and went. No baby. This due date business is for the birds. My kid is in there to stay – he’s going to be like 45 years old by the time he finds the time to come on out. I’ll be taking college classes for him, going on dates, maybe even getting married again before he decides he’s ready to leave my belly.
Meanwhile, people are stopping me left and right in the street to remark/ take pictures of/ discuss the size of my stomach. I have been asked if I 
am having twins (no), triplets (again, no), or have recently competed in a German beer chugging contest that lasted 3 years and went terribly awry. To these people I smile and pose and tell them I’m having quadruplets, I have been in Germany drinking beer non-stop as a secret experiment regarding matters of national security, and that I’m actually a walking monument thus explaining why birds keep landing on me.
In the meantime, I’m beginning to wonder if I am indeed pregnant or if this is some sick joke to deprive me of ever fitting in skinny jeans again. I’ll let you know, but as matters stand…no baby, no baby, no baby.
Sara Morris' Weblog 