33 Weeks, Gypsies, and Names

It just keeps growing! I've been told that's normal, though. It's finally been at the duh point for a while now, the point where people don't give me the is-she....? side-glance. They just ask when I'm due and if it's a boy or a girl. 

One of the cashiers in Trader Joe's asked how far along I was. I told her eight months. She told me to get out of the store, quick. I was all... hello? I still have almost two months here. 

Honestly, I think it's hilarious when people try to guess how far along I am. "What are you, six months?" "What are you, five months?" "When are you due, yesterday?" Then, they inevitably try to cover up their ignorance by displaying it even more blatantly. "Oh my, you're so tiny!" "Well, it must be twins, then."

Please, people. Do every pregnant woman out there a huge favor. Don't try to guess anything about anything about her pregnancy. If there's one thing I've learned about pregnancy from being pregnant, it's that every woman is completely different. Nobody carries the same way as anybody else, nobody gains weight the same way or in the same places, some of us cry all the time, and some just want to hit you. So you're also potentially doing yourself a favor.

In all seriousness, though, some of those people aren't that wrong. Tiny is actually a small baby, according to the ultrasound we had last week. I can still mostly cross my legs (which, according to the moms at the girls' school, is a big deal), and I only need a leetle help getting up from the couch (which Eric thinks is hilarious. He likes to push me forward, then keep pushing, as though once I'm up, I still need the support).

And the gender predictions haven't gone away. If anything, they've gotten worse. There are people I see on a weekly basis who ask on a weekly basis if we know whether it's a boy or a girl yet. 

Last week, while nannying, I took J. (age 8) into Bert and Rocky's, the ice cream shop in the Village, Claremont's downtown. It's a great place -- legitimately old-fashioned, like so much about the Village. I take the girls in there usually on a weekly basis.

However, being in the Village, there are all sorts of people who frequent the shop. Last Wednesday was no exception. 

Almost as soon as we walked in, I noticed a gypsy-looking man sitting at one of the tables who muttered to himself under his breath, with his eyes fixed on me, "it's a boy."

Excuse me? I glanced at him with a puzzled what-the-hell expression. 

"I'm spiritual, so I can tell these things."

Oh. "Well, we aren't finding out whether it's a boy or a girl."

"Oh, it's a boy."

I walked away. 

On our way out, he talked to me again. "What are you, like six months?"

"Eight."

"Well, it's going to be a beautiful baby."

Do you know that, too, because you're spiritual? Then how come you couldn't tell how far along I am?

I ran (waddled) off before he could ask for Tiny's name.

This is also becoming a more common question as my abdomen gets larger. Not just from friends and strangers, either -- Eric and I are wondering, too. We have a short list, but nothing finalized. 

Whatever. We'll just name it Google, regardless of whether Tiny is a boy or a girl. That way, he/she'll already own most of everything and know everything.