"Oh I thought it was a food baby"

So yesterday we moved offices. And this whole office move has been a clusterfuk of epic proportions. It started last week when our ISP turned off our internets and phone service 2 entire DAYS ahead of schedule. Yup, Thursday morning is the same thing as Monday right? Not quite. After hours of phone calls and frustration, we got the service back up and running. We're a consulting business so, lacking access to email and internet is not an option.

We were all set to move on Monday and then, our new office flooded on Friday. It's been empty for a YEAR and 3 days before we move in, it FLOODS. Too bad we had the movers all set and ready to move us, and all of our stuff packed before we knew. Not to mention that we had to get out of the old office, so, we set off to move into the dry portions of the office, and deal with the rest later. Our 10 people office is crammed into a board room and a kitchen. It's been overwhelmingly stressful, and I am glossing over about 100 moments that made me want to cry yesterday but, that's not what is important.

What is important is that the movers thought I just had a spare tire, and not a baby.

A spare tire. AND NOT A BABY. Are you hearing me?

It went something like this:

After hours of chatting mindlessly with the movers, and one of my close friends who also happens to work with me, and making countless mentions that I am in fact, with child, we had this conversation:

G: Oye what a day, we need some beer...or a lot of wine
Me: Well in 13 weeks, I'll take you up on that...often and A LOT
G: Yes, get that baby out of you and we'll get drinking wine!
Me: Sometime before my birthday we will drink again!
G: Ya I only got to know you for like, 5 months before you got knocked up
Me: Soon, I will be carrying around an external human, instead of an internal one, and I can have some drinks
Mover: Wait? You're really pregnant? Huh. I thought it was a food baby, not a real baby
Me: Um no, she's real, been in there 6 months now
Mover: Ha

So ya that's how it went down. And I guess I am not as big as I thought. In fact, I guess I am small enough that instead of looking 6 months pregnant, despite wearing form fitting pants and a cute, bump accentuating t shirt, I just look like I've been doing too many keg stands. Just when I thought I was starting to actually appear preggo to the masses, I am reminded I instead look like all those trips through the Wendy's Drive Thru have finally caught up.

I should however, take solace in the fact that this comment came from a less-than-25 year old, meatheadariffic dude, who makes his living with brute force. Did I mention he didn't appear to be the brightest bulb in the light bright? So perhaps I shouldn't take what he says to heart. I have to assume that the 3 movers, sharing their 25 brain cells and talking like douchebags gone wild may not be the best judge of exactly how pregnant or not pregnant a girl may be. If the fact that I look like a perfect size 4 from the back still didn't give it away. the protruding belly button should have. Or at the very least, the repeated comments about "my baby" and the fact that I kept saying I wasn't going to lift anything heavy, since I was 6 months pregnant.

Apparently, he thought all of this was just in reference to a food baby I'd been carefully and lovingly growing since early summer. A food baby I was worried about harming with the lifting of boxes, and the consuming of alcoholic beverages. A food baby I continued to rub, and call her.

Boys.

Even if he thought it was possible that I carried an extra 10 lbs. in the shape of a half basketball off my front, any smart man would have kept his mouth shut when he learned that, in fact, I was not. A smart man would have giggled silently to himself, and thought "phew dodged that bullet" after realizing he'd save himself the embarrassment (and potential kick in the balls) of accidentally calling a chubby girl pregnant. Or, worse (at least in my opinion) calling a pregnant lady fat. Yes, a smart man would have kept that tidbit to himself, and filed it under "I'm an idiot".

But not my mover. Nope. He called my darling little baby bump a FOOD BABY...and yet, he lived to bring down the general intelligence of the world another day.

Boys.