Bigger Is Better...

I'm six days past my due date with my first baby. Something, I'm told, that is not uncommon. That makes me feel good.

Except, I must look as though I'm six weeks past my due date. That's the impression I get from strangers.

The other day, Ben and I walked down the street. A woman paused her phone conversation and yelled from her front porch, "Wow, girl! You're ready to pop!"

Several hours later, a teenage boy at the Dairy Queen drive-thru asked, "When are you due? It must be soon!"

Yesterday, after church, the priest asked me when I was due. Before I could answer, a very old man crept by with his walker and responded, "Every week I think she's popped, but she's still here!"

We'd never met before.

People ask when I'm due, and I expect responses like, "Wow, so soon!" or "Congratulations!" I never anticipated ones like, "Man, you're huge!" or "I figured it was weeks ago!" or "Are there twins in there?"

Oh, well. I can handle it. This big belly just means we've got one healthy boy who's (almost) ready to meet the world.