I’m typically a pretty chill person. I’m nice to people. I like to make people feel comfortable around me. If I say something that could be perceived as offensive, I’m quick to do damage control and offer my deepest regrets.
However, that’s a different shade of Fatima. That’s the non-pregnant me. Fat, aching, hormonal Fatima is a force to be reckoned with.
Seriously, I’ve become a monster. When I’m not out terrorizing the innocent, I just appear guano crazy.
For instance, I was shopping for maternity clothes at Ross. While flipping through the clothing on the rack , I catch in my periphery a woman who appears to be staring at me. A little socially awkward, I don’t look at her, but just strum up some conversation about how surprised I was to find some cute maternity clothes. She wasn’t amused, and kept staring and smiling. Freaked out, I scooted to the end of the rack. I decided to be bold and look at her in a way to let her know that she’s creepy.
She was in fact a picture of a woman, a model, that was placed at the end of the rack in such a way that it looked like she was some big headed stalker.
Naturally I felt like a babbling moron, but fortunately only one person witnessed my one sided conversation with a poster.
Then there was the time I was watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood with my daughter, and cried the whole episode because it was about the arrival of Daniel’s new little sister. I sat on the couch with tears billowing down my cheeks. Big sister didn’t help because she just climbed in my lap and patted my leg. She takes very good care of me on crazy days.
The pinnacle of my craziness came when I was just innocently waiting in line at Starbucks trying to decide on whether or not to subject new baby to a few milligrams of caffeine or just go with a low fat steamer. Then I felt it. Someone’s breath on top of my head. I turned slightly to see if maybe it was air blowing out the vent. No. Instead it was a man that was about a foot and a half taller than me staring straight ahead with a book tucked under his left arm. I turned back around and took a step forward, trying not to infringe on the personal space of the patron in front of me because people who do that are as welcome as an abscessed molar.
He stepped up closer. I looked him in the face and gave him a district frown. Lurch kept looking forward.
Now I’m a small woman, but I don’t take kindly to being run over. So when I stepped up to place my order, and he scooted up so close that he was kind of standing beside/behind me, crazy pregnant me was unleashed. I whipped my hair back over my shoulder, slammed my wallet on the counter and asked him “have you seen 50 Shades of Grey? Because you’re about to see 50 shades of crazy if you don’t back off my heels.” Dumbfounded, he looked like he didn’t know whether to open his butt or scratch his wallet. I ordered a hot herbal tea, and was gone.
I pretty sure that my filter is busted, and that I’m not going to make it to end of this pregnancy without getting into a knock down, drag out fight with someone. It’ll probably some poor bystander who just glances at me, and because I don’t want anyone looking at me, he’ll get body slammed.