Last weekend, my husband and I traveled to Asheville, NC to attend the wedding of two special friends. The garden ceremony was moving and intimate, the bride was stunning, the guests were a blast and the meal included some of my favorite things: ripe strawberries, chocolate cupcakes and mini-burgers — yum.
It was an escape from real life in more ways than one. In real life, cashiers say to me, “Are you due soon?” Soon? No, I’m only half as big as I’m going to get. But thank you for noticing. And last night, my husband marveled proudly, “I can’t believe how big your belly is!” When I said, “But everyone at work is telling me it’s not that big,” he responded matter-of-factly, “No. They’re lying to you. You’re only five months along and your belly is huge!”
I am not making these things up.
Last weekend I discovered all a pregnant gal has to do is shimmy into a dress and squeeze her swollen feet into something other than flip flops, and guess what? People are so nice! Every time I turned around someone was squealing over my belly, exclaiming over the fact that I was in heels or saying, “You look so great!!!”
It was fabulous.
When all the guests — including several elderly folks — left the garden ceremony via a winding stone staircase, I was the one clinging to the railing, holding up all the traffic behind me and arriving at the top panting and sweating. I stopped to catch my breath and the woman behind me didn’t say, “Good god, could you have taken any longer!?” Nor did she express her sympathy to my husband or ask me if I needed an ambulance. Amazingly enough, she said, “When I’m pregnant, I want to look just like you.”
Hallelujah! I think I actually said, “God bless you” (while mopping the sweat from my face like an overweight Southern preacher).
The star treatment continued all night long. When Vanilla Ice finally moved me to call out, “Make way for big lovin’!” and hit the dance floor, I felt like the belle of the ball. When we made it back to our room at the ungodly hour of 11:30 pm, my feet were so bruised and swollen I could hardly walk, and I fell asleep on the hotel bed as soon as I freed myself from my dress. But if my body could have taken it, I would have been shaking my booty and strutting around in heels until next Tuesday.
I’m already plotting my next opportunity to wear a dress and hang out by a staircase, just to get some more of that “baby just took her first steps” attention (“Yaaaay!! Look at yooooouuuu!!!“). In the meantime, tell your friends: if they’re looking for a pregnant chick who can shake it to “Bust a Move” for a solid 2-3 minutes, give me a call.