Oh well.

I’m 13-something weeks pregnant, a fact that I thought I had expertly hidden from everybody save my family (which admittedly includes a couple thousand people) and close friends.

My belly has certainly developed a growing roundness to it, but I’ve been wearing Tim’s sweatshirts, loose blouses, and ginormous earrings (to divert attention, and because I love them) to work.

I realized yesterday how silly this has been when I told one of our beloved administrative assistants yesterday my big news, and she said, “I know.  I could see that you were pregnant when I looked at you a few minutes ago.” 

As I left her office, I ran into Willy the Jamaican Janitor.  He gave me an up-and-down look (he’s famous for it), got a huge grin on his face, and said, “Ahhhh.”  When I saw him again a few minutes later, he pointed to my belly and said, “That one a boy, right?”  Shocked that it was that obvious, I mumbled that it was too early to tell.  He said, “Hmmm.  You will see, he a boy, he up high in your belly.”  He then laughed and carried on with his work.

Oh well.  My sister Karen and I are very short.  On top of being short, we have very short torsos, meaning there’s not much room for concealing things toward our core.  Furthermore, my body just seems (in ONLY this one way) overjoyed with the prospect of making a baby… every time I so much as walk past a pregnancy test, my belly pops out six inches. 

As my sister says, we make other pregnant women feel good about themselves.

You’re welcome.