How is it even possible that we’ve had this conversation twice in the last four days:
D: Do you think I’m as big as she is? (gesturing wildly at an internet picture of some woman who is further along than she is)
M: How far along is she? (as if this means something to me. It doesn’t. I just like to know)
D: Three weeks more pregnant than I am! (as if we know)
M: (peering at tiny internet picture) I don’t think you’re that pronounced actually. Can you see your feet?
D: Do you think I’m starving the baby?
M: Maybe he’s a dwarf. Maybe the baby is eating you from the inside. Rwar Rwar Rwar. (Makes chomping arms)
I’ve actually never seen a pregnant woman shrink as deftly as she has. It’s like she a skilled contortionist. The belly pops further, but everything else collapses in. At the rate we’re going, I’m going to look as if I’m about to crush and eat her in the birth day pictures. I’m sure she will have gained a few more pounds at the next appointment – the baby has to weigh something. I trust that our time will come. In the meantime, RWAR.