You're Pregnant, 'Cause I said so.



Not me.

So.
Apparently, I should be pregnant. Not because I'm showing signs of it, or that a plus sign appeared on a little pee stick.

I had the flu last week, and when I came in to work, the other Ass said "Are you sure you're not pregnant?". I was like "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?".

Then, I went to Andrew's nephew's birthday party supper. I'm always the one at the table that gets squished in the spot with the littlest space because of my size. That evening I joked about what they would do once I got too fat for that spot. Andrew's aunt jumps in, saying: "Are you trying to tell us something?!?!? Will it be nine month's worth of fatness? ARE YOU PREGNANT?!" (To give this woman credit, she ALWAYS thinks I'm pregnant. Or wants me to be. It gets mentioned pretty much every time I see her.)

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Yesterday, we went to Andrew's grandparents for supper. As soon as I walk in the door, his nanny asks me.

Nanny: Hello! How are you feeling?

Me: I'm good! How are you?

Nanny: Very well, thank you! Are you feeling nauseous a lot?

Me: No....

Nanny: That's good. You know, I never felt nauseous.

Me: ....

Nanny: I didn't have any nausea, but I did have to have cesearions for both of them. You know, some women don't have any nausea at all when they're pregnant.

Did you see that?! She didn't even ask.

So, in an attempt to figure out what the hell is going on, there are three possibilities I can think of.

1. I'm so fat that I look like I'm showing. Even though I'm currently losing weight.
2. Someone is throwing around that I'm pregnant. I sure as hell know it isn't Andrew, because he's not ready to have the demon spawn I would inevitably create if they had his DNA. And I don't know who else would do that. 
3. Everyone REALLY wants me to be pregnant.

Through the use of reasoning, I feel like it's number 3. At this point, I feel like I could be pregnant through the sheer willing of the people around me. It's like the whole "I do believe in fairies!" thing from Peter Pan, except in this case, Tinkerbell is replaced by a foetus.

Or maybe a Tinkerbell foetus? Cause it would be
awesome if my baby could make me fly and shit.

The worse thing is, I'm actually starting to believe them. Sure, I have absolutely no symptoms and I am currently making very sure that I don't get knocked up. But pretty much every night, I ask Andrew:

"But what if I am pregnant?"

Andrew: You're not.

Me: But what if I was?

Andrew: You're not.

Me: What if it's twins?!

Andrew: YOU'RE NOT PREGNANT.

Andrew is probably counterbalancing their wishing with wishing of his own.