Let the record reflect: I am not pregnant. Nope.
Last Friday, a patient asked me when I was due. Want to know what my first thought was? It was "Shoot, my library books are overdue again." My second thought was "I think she thinks I'm pregnant."
Now, as women we all know that old rule: You don't ask a woman when she is due unless she is laying in a hospital bed with a fetal monitor around her belly. But ask she did. And let me just say as well--last Friday at the pool, my sweet Charlie looked at me in my swimsuit and said "Hey, Mom, it's funny you still have a big tummy from when you had Tate." OK, you have to love the BRUTAL honesty of a 5-year-old, but sometimes it's just brutal period.
To make me feel just a teeeeeeny tiny bit better, I do tend to wear clothes that are sometimes loose and flowy, and Buck told me that the shirt I was wearing on Friday could be mistaken for a maternity shirt (it's not a maternity shirt though, let me be clear!). Bummer. Guess I have to throw that shirt away!
So, here's to a couple of more new leaves being turned over. Let the journey begin!