Pregnancy, for some reason, in ways becomes an invite to a lot of unwanted questions about your personal life. At work, I ignore these people or fire back with some snide remark as some of these questions are completely inappropriate and quite frankly, noone's business. But then there's the most common question.... the one I used to ask others and not think twice.... and it's a question that is asked out of complete curiousity; noone meaning you any harm.
How many children do you have?
For most people, they can answer this question in a totally natural way. Not me. Not anymore. Do I lie or do I tell the truth? I almost immediately go into panic mode, with my brain going a million miles a minute thinking how thing conversation could take so many different turns and which one I was prepared for at that specific moment.
I think back to "old me"... I would happily say that I had one son, named Colin, and bring out my phone to show off pictures of my incredibly handsome baby boy.
All of that has changed in the past year. The truth now is that I have two sons, and two daughters. The response I would expect is "oh my!" or "You're awfully young to have 4 children already" or for someone to ask me for pictures. I could easily bring forth a picture of Colin.... I have about 50 on my phone alone. I can show them Reagan's ultrasound, or they can see my visible protruding bump. I don't have pictures of Gabby or Ryan. I never will.
It always poses internal complications when someone asks how many children I have... The easy answer for conversational reasons is to say one with one on the way... and then my heart breaks. Like I've denied Gabby and Ryan's existence... like they didn't deserve to be acknowledged. Or I can come back with the honest and complicated answer. The truth. I have 4. One here, one on the way, and two in heaven. Which ususally is followed by uncomfortable silence for the person who asked. But at least my heart feels free.
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