no more hiding

All my pregnancy books and journals have a spot to write down when a stranger noticed you were pregnant for the first time. Mark it down - 24 weeks and 1 day.

Yesterday, I was working my temporary second job passing out parent surveys at after school programs when a staff person said, "best wishes on this new phase of your life," nodding at my round belly.

Today, I went to pick up my friend J at lunch and a fourth-grader in her class pointed and said, "you got a baby in there?" J then proceeded to smile for the next hour, touch my tummy and swore she could see his head. Her only question was if he cried while he was in there.

She declared that since I didn't have a daughter, only a son, she would be my daughter and the baby was her brother.

Also, she'd like me to bring pictures next week - of her brother.

the eyeball sweater

Today I went to see my fourth grade buddy at the school where we both mentor. My friend, J, is super sweet despite her need to always establish I am a Crip and not a Blood. Usually she greets me with a hug and huge grin. Today she was curled up in a ball with her jacket hiding her face. I asked the teacher what was wrong and he said "oh not a big deal."

J didn't want to show me the tears streaming down her face so I just started making a paper chain for her Christmas tree. She even let me use red but still refused to speak. Pretty soon she wrote me a note.

"Sarah, I'm sorry i'm not playin with you. the kids made fun of me about my hands. i'm never eating again. sorry."

Turns out, a marker exploded onto her hands during indoor recess and her hands were now a shade of green - all over. The kids in her class thought that was pretty funny. She did not. I wrote a note back and asked her if she wanted me to help her wash them, and the first words she spoke to me: "Leave it alone, Sarah."

But 50 links of paper chain later, eating a lunch (I carried her tray so the kids wouldn't see the green hands),  and my time off work up, she shyly asked if I could help her wash her hands. We scrubbed those hands raw for 20 minutes and sent her back to class looking less like the Grinch. And I got my huge hug goodbye.

It reminded me of a sweater I wore that my great-grandma made me - white with balls of purple and blue. While sitting in a circle in kindergarten, a boy who shall remain nameless (though don't think I don't remember his name) called it the eyeball sweater.

I cried. And never, ever wore the handmade sweater again.

So maybe it wasn't a big deal to the teacher. But J's green hands and my eyeball sweater - very big deals to a tender little heart.