When I got home from picking up Alex on Friday, I heard, "Hi Jackie!" from the street as I was maneuvering my giant self out of Travis's low-ish riding car while wrangling the dog and answering a never ending stream of questions from the backseat driver. I was decked out in non-maternity yoga pants, a barely long enough tshirt and a hoodie. Add stray hairs getting my mouth and nose after falling out of my hastily fastened ponytail, and I was a sight to behold.
The climb out of the car required more effort than I would like to admit and by the time I got over to the idling car in the street, I was out of breath. I arrived at the waiting car to find an acquaintance smiling a perfect smile while donning her perfect Ray-Bans that picked up the highlights in her perfect hair that went perfectly with her perfect outfit. But things really hit bottom when she lost a little glimmering in her smile and said, "Oh...you've reached the heavy breathing point."
Bitch, I will cut you. There is absolutely no need ever to tell a 9 month pregnant person they have achieved the breathing status of an obese water buffalo. No need. Ever.
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