As a little treat to myself this weekend, I went to get a mani/pedi while little Leo slept. I was sitting there in the massage chair with my feet soaking while the manicurist started on my hands. I told her I needed my nails cut very short because they grow so fast. After cutting down one hand of very long nails she asked “What kind of vitamins do you take?”
“Prenatal,” I told her.
“Oh, you’re pregnant?” she asked.
I glanced down at my mid-section, and for a second I considered just telling her yes and calling it a day. But I didn’t have enough to time to consider how I’d answer the next question of how far along. I couldn’t decide in that split second just how pregnant I think I still look versus how pregnant I might look to other people. So I went with the (mostly) true answer of, “No, I just had a baby.”
I don’t know how long I can claim that I “just” had a baby by way of explanation or excuse for my physical condition and occasional slovenly appearance, but I’m going to let it ride until someone calls me on it.
Of course the next question was how old my baby was. Again, for just a second I considered saying “About a month,” thus avoiding any scrutiny of gut. These women would never know. They might even think I looked good for my situation. Yet again though, my penchant for blurting out the truth in any situation, for better or worse won out and I told them that my son just turned three months.
Any conversation that followed was between the two nail technicians in a language I don’t speak so I can’t know if they judged me or not but next time someone asks, I hope to be ready with an appropriate lie. I’m think I’ll just say “Centrum.”
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