Enough With the Pregnancy Illustrations Already

You know how when you're overdue and you don't want to go out in public because you know everyone, and I mean everyone, is going to ask you when you're due?

I'm the freaking size of a house. I was due last Saturday. Shut the bleep up.

When we got home from Ethiopia I didn't want to go out because I didn't want to answer, "How was it?" "How did it go?" "Was it amazing?" "Is she just so excited to be adopted?" "How was your trip?" "How sick did you get?" "How was the food?" "Insert whatever your question would be?"

I was numb.

Mostly Brent answered.

I finally landed on my standard answer, "Hard. It was hard." If they looked like they might be genuinely curious and might actually want a real answer, (or if I was just ready to explode emotion all over them) I might elaborate.

Occasionally I'd drop a "You really don't want to know."

Actually, sometimes I still do.

Most of the time I act like a grown up and pretend the person on the receiving end actually does want to know.

Let me tell you right now; If you are comfortable in your life, you don't really want to know.

I don't want to know.

I'm carrying around an ache in my chest that feels like a bowling ball is sitting there and I can't breathe and I can't put it on the shelf so that I can talk about it or, frankly, much of anything else, sorry.

I finally got to where I could go out in public in small doses. I live in a pretty small town and most of the people who were going to ask, have asked and I don't have to deal with it most days.

Except now the questions have changed.

"So when will you get her?"

Oh dear.

{insert raging lunatic overreaction of your choice--my assumption is that it would sound something like IHAVEZEROCONTROLOVERANYTHINGIHAVENOIDEAWHENSHEWILLCOMEHOMEANDI'MSCAREDTODEATHABOUTWHENSHEDOES}

Thank you, friends, for caring.

I'm going to just go curl up into a figurative ball over there in the corner now.

Call me when it's over.