Is there a baby in your belly?

Day 50: Monday May 21st
Today I thought I would take the day off from working out, since I usually do on Mondays, but I woke up with intense soreness in my neck and shoulders. I had the same issue Sunday morning, but a bike ride made it feel much better, and typically movement makes my aches and pains feel better.

So after Sweet Pea was done with her breakfast, around 7ish, I was up anyway and Dan wasn’t going to leave until 8:30 or so, which gave me plenty of time for a short, easy trail run. The sun was glowing pinkish against the Flatirons and the sky was the perfect shade of bright blue without a cloud in sight. Although I felt kind of sluggish, I just took it easy and ran for about 35 minutes, which helped a lot as far as my neck and shoulder pain.

I’m still not back to my pre-pregnancy weight.  That said, I don’t think I look like I am still pregnant. At least I didn’t until Saturday, which is when I started wondering if maybe I do, although I still pretty sure I don’t.  I was at a party and a little girl in a princess outfit came up to me and said “Is there a baby in your belly?”  Really? What is with kids, anyway? Like, just because you’re a kid, you can say whatever you want? She probably forgot about it altogether, while I am left wondering a) if its true and b) how I can trick myself into not caring at all so that c) Sweet Pea will not have body image issues because she saw her mom standing in front of the mirror, whining about whether she looks fat/pregnant/bloated

When I was in high school a kid I was babysitting for asked me where my boobs were (They’re just small). When i was in graduate school, a pre-schooler kid asked me why I had a mustache (I’ve since had electrolysis). Will my kid be like this someday? I always worried that she would repeat something I’ve said that was never meant to be repeated outside of our house. Now I am worried she will say something that’s just plain rude. My parents love to tell the story of how when I was about four years old, our sweet neighbor who was like a grandmother to me, gave me earmuffs as a gift. I was expecting something better, apparently, because when my parents prompted me, asking me, “What do you say?,” instead of “Thank you” I muttered, “I hate them.” I was promptly sent to my room.  Before Sweet Pea was born I hoped that she would be healthy. Now I hope that she doesn’t inherit my bluntness, although she probably will.

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