Saturday, October 26, 2013


16 weeks, baby!

The apps say that Evie will double her weight in the next few weeks.  OMG, what if she moved around during the ceremony?  That would be the sweetest.  Meanwhile, I’m drinking a Coke, which is verboten but at the same time has been an object of unusual craving for me.

Did I mention that?  We’re getting married.  I’ll be nearly 18 weeks at the time, so we’re curious to see what kind of baby bump has emerged at that point.  On the one hand, it’s harder to choose a wedding ensemble that will accommodate it, but, on the other hand, what’s a better prop for the pictures?  When we’ve exhausted our quota of photos looking lovingly at one another, we can just look lovingly at the bump.  I’m really ready for the bump to be big enough that it can’t be confused with my non-pregnant belly; at the same time, I’m lucky in that I have a lot of empire-waist clothes to start with.

One thing that has recently started worrying me, though, is that, once I do start showing, the married/partnered mystery jig is up.  I’m not ashamed to be in a lesbian relationship, and the people I interact with regularly of course know about it, but we’re in the deep South, so I’m not inclined to advertise it.  If I don’t know someone’s affiliations and don’t have to talk about it, I won’t.  If a lady at Costco asks if I have a husband, I just say no and leave it at that.  When the friendly hot-dog vendor asks if I’m married with young ‘uns, I can just say no—or, anyway, I could.  I have a gold band, but it’s safely on my right hand—or, anyway, was.  But an elderly and devoutly Catholic customer will no doubt inquire how I came to be pregnant once there’s a major protrusion, and I just don’t know how he’ll handle it when I cop to reproducing with my lesbian partner.  (I still can’t wrap my mind or mouth around the word “wife.”  Heather likewise finds it daunting.)

I took Heather’s wedding band to be resized a few weeks ago, and the jeweler kindly refused payment for what he deemed a minor service.  He assumed the band was for me, so I explained that I was pregnant and expected my hands to swell soon instead of saying that I needed the ring to be bigger than my ring finger because my girlfriend had slightly bigger hands than mine.  When I vainly insisted on paying, he said that I should just have my husband return to him for a diamond ring as a push present.  A) There’s no husband and B) push presents are ridiculous.  Also I would be terrified to have a diamond ring.  So I said yeah, knowing that we would never be returning to him for a diamond and I’d have felt a lot better if he took twenty bucks for the resizing. 

Still, the assumption is there, and I’ve always floated with it, but a giant belly doesn’t leave much room for ambiguity.  I’m pretty confident that answering “immaculate conception” will not fly.  Perhaps I can hand out an informational sheet, detailing my relationship with Heather and the insemination process.  Illustrated.  “How My Belly Came to Be.”  That is totally happening.

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