2:10 P.M. Monday, March 23rd.
She is obviously pregnant. Not the polite kind of pregnant that tries to hide behind over-stuffed purses or shopping bags. She is the ostentatious kind, pressed against tight red spandex. When she breathes, her belly—no longer her stomach—protrudes proudly. The word belly sounds silly and gentle. Infantile and almost condescending. This used to be her body part. Now she is part child.