Hell hath no fury

Well, it's happened.  I can't deny it anymore, or pretend it doesn't exist. 

I have stretch marks. 

Fuckers!

There's no greater dose of reality than hearing your grandmother on the phone saying:

"Oh yeah!  She looks like a real pregnant lady now.  She has the stretch marks and everything!"

And....I'm not a lady!  I mean, I am...in the sense that I cross my legs when I wear a skirt and I try not to fart in public.  But jeeze, I'm not a lady in the sense that little kids come up to me and say "Hey lady, why are you so wrinkly?"

I'm a woman.  Or a girl.  Or...some mixture of the two.  A Goman.  Well, some mixture that doesn't sound like I'm related to Orcs and Goblins. 

Then there's the girl at work who used to do that passive aggressive complimenting of my tiny waist.  "Wow!  Look at her waist, it's so tiny compared to her hips!  I wish my stomach was that flat."

Now she sees me and she's eating up the fact that I'm bulging at the seams.  She even said to me "Awww, aren't you cute in your Mommy pants."

Mommy pants, eh?!

What?  My Mommy Pants?  Mommy Pants are those pants that come above the belly button and taper at the bottom and make your ass look like it's dripping down the back of your legs.  In what planet is is ok to tell someone they look like they are wearing something so heinous?

Of course, this is the same woman who comes up to me and rubs my belly every time she sees me.  She also tells me I should come in her cube when I feel the baby moving so she can feel her too.  Because THAT sounds like fun!  Sure.  I'll be right over. 

Start holding your breath you tactless cow.