Saturday afternoon at the mall is not my favorite place to be. Anyone want to guess why?
I’ll give you three tries…
Is it because the parking lot is packed and the stores are crowded and I hate trying to maneuver a stroller around the crowds with an armload of shopping bags dangling from my shoulder? (Yes, but I can handle that.)
Is it because I’m trying to be healthy and yet Cinnabon, Orange Julius, and Mrs. Fields all call out my name as I pass? (Yes, but that’s beside the point.)
Or is because every pregnant woman within a ten mile radius is there to flaunt her oh-so-beautiful bump and around every damn corner is a new mommy wearing her precious baby in a Bjorn?
Ding ding ding!
Today, I think I counted no less than a good two dozen new babies being toted around and nearly as many expecting mamas. And the hardest part is knowing that if my pregnancy had stuck, I would be one of those mamas too. By now, I would be sporting my own pretty bump and showing it off with pride. And my heart would be swollen with all the love and joy it could hold. Instead, I have a flat stomach (well, relatively), empty arms (again relatively, as my daughter only lets me hold her occasionally these days), and a very broken heart.
Pity Party, table for one, please.