If I've learned anything about life, its that one can never really be fully prepared for every curveball thrown one's way. I read my ass off when I first found out I was with child. Seriously, I probably could be licensed as some sort of official know-it-all when it comes to what to expect...when you're expecting (ugh, couldn't resist). However no matter how well-researched my cloth diapering plans are, there will come a time when the crap is real and it won't exactly work out the way it did in my head. No matter how prepared I think I am, something always happens to throw me off guard and remind me just how life's unpredictability really can be summed up on a bumper sticker: shit happens.
Never has this been more evident to me than recently, when faced with a situation I hadn't even considered in the innumerable new situations one finds oneself in when pregnant: the ex-boyfriend run-in.
I'm showing now. No longer looks like I might just have a muffin top, thank god. You can actually tell I'm pregnant (my yardstick for that is I've had my first crazy old lady encounter. Apparently it is inevitable that a doddering 70+ woman sporting mismatched clothes and an unfocused gleam in her eye will approach a pregnant woman, hand outstretched to touch the belly, and start rattling off semi-linear thoughts. This particular grand dame's kids, you'll be excited to know, were "all rats save one, who lives over on the next block and have you had any cravings yet dear?" Cripes.)
So yes, when I ran into the Rasta (every guy I dated whom I didn't take seriously was given a snarky nickname. What? I was in my twenties. Now that I'm a serene and mature 30, that's all behind me) while fulfilling a mid-afternoon falafel craving, I was wholly unprepared. We made brief eye contact, he made eye-to-belly contact, back up, back down and then we pretended we didn't know each other. I could handle that. What I was unprepared for was how I felt; simultaneously smug and vulnerable. Like, "ha, check out my Fruit of the Womb, look who's glowing, nyah nyah nyah" combined with "oh shit did he notice I'm not wearing a ring and do I look totally fat and gross?" I don't particularly like smugness or vulnerability and had never fathomed a combo. It didn't feel good. It felt distinctly uncomfortable.
I'm curious how other women have felt in this situation. I suppose it depends on the breakup, ie: still friends vs. barely acknowledging one another's existence. Please share.
