A few days ago I received a group email from one of my good friends in my ladies’ group from church requesting baby gear for a friend of hers who just found out she was SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT!?! Excuse my French, church ladies, but WTF?
Sure, I’ve seen this episode on TLC several times before, but when it’s someone I know (okay, it’s really someone someone I know knows) it makes it a heck of a lot stranger. According to The Caveman’s Pregnancy Companion (a little ditty Eric and I picked up at B&N), by the seventh month, the baby is the size of a pot roast. His or her head, eyes, hands, feet, digits, genitals, lashes, brows and nails are developed. He or she pees (ew), kicks, moves around, and reacts to light and sound outside the womb.
Did this unsuspecting mother-to-be mistake her seven months of pregnancy for one serious case of kick-ass indigestion? Was there no morning sickness? No ta-ta engorgement? No night time urination? No buttons popping off suddenly tightened clothing? And, what about, well, you know, the most obvious sign that something might be awry in vajayjay land?
It’s possible that I’m lacking empathy here (and therefore in need of extra prayer from my fellow church ladies), but, as Mark Twain so aptly put it, “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt!”
By the way, it’s a boy! If you’re feeling generous and have any baby gear you’d like to pass along to this brilliant Betty, let me know and I’ll make arrangements.