Sometimes Sally is exceptionally cute. You know the moments–like this one: The Mr. and I are walking along our neighborhood lagoons while Sally rides her purple bike. A bike with training wheels and tassels on the handlebars. And she’s wearing some adorable dress and singing about the beautiful sunset. Or belting out Katy Perry’s “Firework.” Either way.
And then a pregnant lady sees her. Sometimes it’s a pregnant lady and her spouse. Those are the best. They are waddling along in their seventh month of delusion. You know this is their first child because, A) they are exercising together, B) they are holding hands while exercising together, C) they gaze at my daughter with the hope and excitement of someone who has no idea that: in 20 minutes this same “angel” will cry about the dinner offerings in our house; and then rant about how she just had a bath two nights ago, she doesn’t need another one, JEEZ, why is her mom so MEAN; and then complain that she can’t sleep unless I am on the floor of her room causing irreversible damage to my hip bones; and then wake me up by attempting to hand me a booger.
We don’t tell the delusional people about that part. It would just cause premature labor, and that’s not helping anyone. Plus, until the baby is born, women still think it’s a little weird for strangers to talk to them. (AFTER the baby is born, we’ll readily share our deepest and grossest secrets before we even share names.) So we let the pregnant couple think that life with a child is rosy at all times, and that they, too, will someday enjoy relaxing evening walks as an adorable family. They don’t need to know that the only reason we’re out there in the first place is because it was someone’s birthday at school and the sugar from the cupcakes will keep our “miracle” up until 11 if we don’t run her around some.
After they’re out of earshot we make brutal fun of them.