Yesterday I ventured into the Commissary. I ventured with Isaac in grocery cart and Elijah in belly.
I knew it was only a matter of time before someone had the guts to ask me how I could have a baby so small and a belly so big.
Yesterday was the day.
Not that I haven't seen people do a double take when they see Isaac and Elijah at the same time. People are doing it everywhere. They look at Isaac. They look at the belly. They look back again. But they don't say anything. It's a courageous move to say something.
But yesterday, my cashier at the Commissary must have been feeling courageous.
For awhile, my belly was in "maybe" land. Maybe I was pregnant. Maybe I was just not very good at losing the baby weight. Who knew. What we do know is that it is very dangerous territory to ask a woman if they are pregnant unless you are very sure.
I did it on a walk the other day. A woman asked me when I was due. I asked her back and then instantly felt a wave of panic. Was she due? Was she pregnant? How could I have been so careless. Good thing for me, she was. That was a close one.
I'm no longer in maybe land. If someone thinks I may not be pregnant, I seriously would worry about their eyesight or perception or intelligence.
Anyways, I knew it was only a matter of time, and Monday was the day.
The checkout ladies at the Commissary are very forward. Would anyone out there second that opinion? They are always saying or asking something that ventures just a bit across the line. Does anyone remember the one who said to me, "Wow! You are tall! My granddaughter is supposed to be tall. I sure hope she isn't as tall as you."
And no, I'm not embellishing that story. That's exactly how she said it. She then spent the next ten minutes attempt ting to backpedal or butter me up or make me feel better for majorly insulting me. I was kind to her, but I have to admit my feelings had been slightly hurt, and I just wasn't interested in becoming her best friend at that point.
Anyways, yesterday, while I was checking out, the cashier at the line next to mine didn't have anyone to wait on. So she came over to play with Isaac while I loaded my groceries on the belt. Typical Isaac was in his typical bare feet, and she quickly busted into a game of "stinky toes" with a now feverless and back to his giggly self Isaac.
Soon, both my cashier and the neighboring cashier were playing with Isaac as I waited for my bags to be filled.
But then . . . my cashier looked at Isaac. She looked at belly. She looked back at Isaac. Looked back at belly. I could practically see what her mind was thinking. How could I have a baby this old and a belly that big? She was doing the math. Adding the months. This wasn't making sense.
So she asked how old Isaac was. Fair question. And a safe one. It would also help her better calculate. I answered. Nearly five and a half months.
The wheels started spinning faster. Then she said something, and I wish I could remember exactly how it went. But it was something about us not waiting the "full six weeks" that doctors advise you to wait after having a baby before even contemplating baby #2. I quickly put up my hand, trying to save her from the embarrassment. I then went on to explain that Isaac was adopted. I always try to make it quick. But inevitably, people become fascinated and the questions start flowing.
The comments flow as well. I don't think there is a person I have met yet who has not heard the story and said, "That always happens." or "You must have just relaxed" or "I know so many people who adopt and then get pregnant."
I have stopped correcting these stories with my typical, "Well actually, that only occurs in 2% of cases." I couldn't figure out a way to do that without sounding just a bit mean or caustic or insensitive. So instead, I nod and smile.
Nod and smile and push my cart out into the parking lot with Isaac in seat and Elijah in belly. Needless to say this isn't a predicament I ever thought I would find myself. But it's a predicament I am blessed to be in.