“No, but today’s the due date,” he said, with the authority of an adult.

He then announced, “I don’t like babies in bellies. They don’t play with anybody. They’re just inside, alone.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.”

He continued, “I bet they want to come out to discover grown-ups.”

He paused, then asked, “Do you know what the word ‘discover’ means?”

“Yes.”

“It means babies want to stare at grown-ups with their eyes. Is that what ‘discover’ means?” he asked, questioning himself.

“Yes. Discovering means learning about something, and we can discover by seeing, by hearing, by touching. There are lots of ways to learn about something, including staring.”

“I bet our baby will want to see our house—because it’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking full credit for the beauty of our home.

“Except for the holes,” he stated. Our house was built in 1927 and has several holes, primarily in corners, near the floor. “The holes aren’t beautiful; they’re dark. I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Yes, our house is old, so it does have some holes.”

Completely changing the subject, he said, “The baby might want to sleep with us.” Then he asked, “When is the baby coming?”

“Our baby or Charlie’s?”

“Ours.”

“Well, he’s due in two months.”

“Two poopy months?”

“No, two diarrhea months,” I deadpanned.

Unable to stop giggling, he struggled to ask, “Two diarrhea months? Did you say that to make me laugh?”

“Yes, potty mouth. Yes, I did.”

Little boys and their potty mouths… Growing up with four younger brothers and now serving as stepmom to two teenage boys and mom to a 5-year-old son, I’ve had to adapt. Soon—in two poopy and/or diarrhea months or less—I’ll have another son with the potential to be a potty mouth, but I’ve learned to appreciate boyness. So I can’t wait.

And neither can my 5-year-old son. Babies in bellies are boring…

On Monday, Presidents Day, my husband worked from home, and he took our son and me to lunch at a local restaurant. When the waitress, who has served us multiple times over the years, saw me walk through the front door, she blurted, “Mama is due…”

I smiled.

“When are you due?”

“Oh, not until April 23, so I have more than two months to go. I just get big.”

Surprised, she asked, “Are there two in there?”

Once again, I had to override my instinct to tell the truth, to say that there were twins, but we lost one. That would have been too much of a burden on this nice woman, an acquaintance just trying to make conversation, so I simply assured her that we’re only having one.

Later on, to meet my required four to six daytime hours of bed rest, I was propped up in my bed, resting next to my son, and my husband walked in the room, getting the full view of my stomach, rising up, mountainous. He teased, “Your belly is ridiculous!”

I turned to my son and asked, “Daddy thinks my belly is ridiculous. Do you think it’s ridiculous?”

He said, “I think it’s beautiful.” Oh, how I love him…

I’m so uncomfortable, with asthma, nosebleeds, heartburn and incontinence, on top of the physical burden of this weight, and I’ve been feeling isolated and depressed as a result of my five weeks of bed rest, so I’ve found myself focusing on the minor day-to-day irritants of this third trimester of pregnancy. But, with one sweet comment, my son made me remember the big picture: This is beautiful, because I’m a vessel carrying a miracle.

And, for the rest of this pregnancy, every time I field a comment about my size, every time I struggle with body-image issues, every time I cringe because I’m feeling yet-another sharp pain as my belly expands further, I will remember that any physical and emotional discomfort is worth it, because I am a big, beautiful vessel carrying a miracle.