No, really. “Thankyou”.

Thankyou to the person pouring a glass of wine for themselves, seeing and me and giving me the “… Oh, I’m Sorry.” look.
It’s OK, really. I wasn’t going to ask for one.  Chill.

Thankyou to the people who have said both “Where are you keeping that baby?” and then two weeks later, “Wow, You’re huge!” I’m pregnant. Calm the eff down.

Thankyou to the person who has said, “Just you wait until it’s here. You’re husband will spend way more time at the office!”
I really just need to freak myself out right now and believe for that 0.2 second interval that I’m doing this alone. Cheers.

Thankyou to the person who has given me the “That’s the name you’re going with?” face… who them proceeds to make fun of it. Yes, and that’s why I haven’t said anything to anyone since.

Thankyou to the people who I haven’t seen in forever and a day, but for some reason, still feel the need to invite themselves to the Meet the Baby party. You will no doubt, eat my food, drink my drinks and pass judgement on my child, house and self.

Thankyou to the idiots who have tried to grab my stomach and then recoiled at my reactions. You’re invading my personal space, without even a by your leave. I will let you know how diskish I think you are. Loudly.

Thankyou to the coffee vendor, who before I even said anything, stated, “Decaf, right?”
“No, jerkwad. Tea. But because I have my grown up panties on,  I don’t need my decisions made for me. But, Thanks very much.”

Thankyou to the shop assistant who stopped me in the middle of the store to measure themselves against me. You’re not even pregnant. And Yes, I was smaller than you.

Thankyou to the ‘friends’ who have refused to talk to me because my life is going in a different direction to theirs.  Yes, I am growing scales and will soon swim away to be with my brethren.
You  are completely correct. Good effing job.  

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