"Um...nope.....just one....." I said, and then added stupidly, "I'm just a hearty eater!" while swinging my arm in front of me hick-style. Yeah. Good one.
Sometimes I say it's because I'm having a boy and they tend to sit out front while girls spread out wide. Or I'll say, "Sorry that's actually not the baby you're seeing. That's the 12 malted milk balls I just ate."
But I think my mom just gave me the best explanation. She's been reading one of those week-by-week books so she can follow along with my pregnancy from 2100 miles away, and today I got a text from her that said,
"Your uterus is the size of a soccer ball and the average weight gain for 25 weeks is 16-22 pounds. No wonder you're showing so much!"
Ah yes, that's what I should have said to the old lady yesterday, "Nope, not twins. It's just that my uterus is the size of a freaking soccer ball. No need to worry, missy."
Trust me, people, I am probably a lot more aware of how big I am than you are. I've already got the "turtle on its back" syndrome to deal with every time I try to get out of bed. But, the wonderful thing of it all, is that it's actually quite beautiful, this big belly of mine. The highway of blue veins weaving across my taut skin, the roundness rising from my hip bones. I kinda like it --
but more than that,
I love what it means.