By the end of month six, I couldn’t go anywhere without someone staring like I was about to give birth right there in the middle of the grocery store. Strangers would do that awkward half-smile and ask, “Any day now?” and I’d have to fake-laugh and go, “Still got a few months, actually.” Then their faces would drop like I just told them I was carrying an elephant.
I get it. I was huge. But I also couldn’t help feeling like everyone thought I was doing something wrong. Like I was overeating or hiding twins or lying about how far along I really was. Even my aunt Lela, who I adore, pulled me aside at a family barbecue and whispered, “Sweetheart, are you sure it’s just one in there?”