At the pool, in my belly-friendly bikini, I apparently make quite a spectacle. Women smile, men try not to look alarmed, and kids just stare, gaping at my mass.
The other afternoon, I came out of a bathroom stall into the ladies changing room, and surprised two eight-year-old girls. They stopped mid-chatter, mouths open, and proceeded to follow me with huge eyes as I washed my hands, dried them, adjusted my suit, and made my way back out into the sun. I didn't mind the inspection, and would have happily answered any curious questions, but I think the visual was as much information as they could handle, if not quite a bit more.
Neighbors of ours who swim at the same pool, three and five-year old boys, know me better and aren't afraid to ask questions. So far, the favorites are, "Have you started cracking open yet?" and "When are you going to crack?" and, "Is the baby naked in there?" and "Are you sure it's a girl?" (the last very skeptically, with a wrinkled nose). The youngest likes to pat my belly, which is the sweetest thing ever, and once evolved into him gently patting it with his knuckles, which made his poor mother have a heart attack when she glanced over, and yelped, "No punching pregnant ladies in the belly!"
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