I shared this story the other night with a friend and I decided it was too funny not to blog.  So here you go…just another random blog about my life.

You. Are. Welcome.

I was 24 years old and pregnant with Sloan.  It should be stated that Sloan was a mammoth of a child.  He was 9.3 when he was born in July of 2003 so by June of that year I looked like I was going to explode.  I carried him one hundred percent out front and quite low so yes, I waddled and I got asked more than once if I was expecting twins.

FYI – Pregnant women don’t like to be asked if they’re having twins because the chances are greater that they’re not carrying twins.  If you are unsure, it’s best to simply not ask.

It was early on a June day and Lee needed to take my car into the shop due to a rather unpleasant sound it was making that was certain to cost us a large portion of our unborn child’s college fund so instead of being stuck at home for the day, I decided to run the few errans I had in The Pup.

The Pup was a little Isuzu truck we bought while we were rehabbing our house so that we could haul lumber and other large items to and from our temporary home – Lowes.  I believe we paid $500 for The Pup.  She was rusted inside and out and she shook rather furiously when you started her up.  She sputtered when she moved and she was drafty due to a rather significant hole in the floor board.  But she served her purpose well and we tried not to drive her long distances for fear that she might literally fall apart in the road and we’d be left manually pushing a Flinstones car up the driveway.

So on this fine morning, I loaded up The Pup and prepared to spend the morning out.

Did I mention I was great with child?  Great with child.  And for some reason, on this particular day, I decided to wear my hair in two long braids.  I was 24 so I could still pull off braids without looking totally and completely ridiculous.

Actually, I’m guessing that’s not true.  I probably looked ridiculous.

I also wore no make up and because my fingers were rather swollen I had on no ring.  But the creme de la creme of my little ensemble came in the form of my maternity shirt.  Because my protuding abdomen was so prominent, food and liquids attached themselves to it with great frequency.  As in, every time I ate I spilled something on my stomach.  So by the end of my pregnancy, I didn’t own a single unstained shirt.  And the shirt I chose on that particular day was white and had a long stain right. down. the middle.

I am nothing if not classy.

So out I walked.  In braids, with a stained shirt, to The Pup.  I had give myself a bit of a running start in order to get my gut up off the ground and into the slightly elevated seat.  It was quite the ordeal, in fact to get in and get the seat adjusted so that I could reach the steering wheel without it cutting off the circulation to the lower half of my body.

In short…I looked ridiculous.

I made my first stop at Borders Bookstore.  I waddled in and got my book and smiled slightly at the people who started at me with eyebrows raised.  I waddled back out, took my hop, step and leap into The Pup’s front seat and shimmied around until I was just right and continued on to the gas station.

Here I ran into an older man and woman filling up their boat on wheels.  The woman didn’t even try to hide her horrified stares.  It was at this moment that I began to feel a bit like a Zoo animal.  I also began to wonder what it was that people were staring at.

After I got gas, I headed to Mecca Target.  It was here that the stares intensified and I finally got the question.

“Honey, when are you due?”

“In three weeks.”

“Ah,” the woman nodded knowingly. “And you feel okay to be out walking around?”

“Um…yes?”

She looked down at me with a bit of pity in her eyes, causing even more confusion on my part.  “Well, good luck to you,” she said, patting me on the shoulder as she turned to walk away.  This woman truly seemed sorry for me.

I decided to make my purchase and get out of the Twilight Zone as quickly as possible at that point.  When I made my pitiful leap into The Pup, I looked up in the rear view mirror to make sure I didn’t have FREAK written across my forehead and when I looked I laughed out loud.

Braids and no make up with bangs hanging neatly across my forehead…

I looked seventeen years old. 

No wonder people stared.  I looked like a poor little knocked up teenager who’s boyfriend had left her with nothing but a stained shirt and beat up old truck.  This explained the old woman’s horror at the gas station.

I also explains why I have never worn braids again.

The End.