I was walking to the chiropractor yesterday (I've pinched a nerve in my back, hence the lack of postings since my return) when I felt a tap, tap, tap on my bulging belly. I turned to see a small, Leprechaun-like fellow grinning up at me.
"It's a boy," he said, pointing at my stomach.
"Yes he is," I replied, scootching away. I get prickly when strangers walk right next me. It feels weird, like my shadow has come to life.
"Have you picked a name yet?" he asked, his fingers poised to poke.
"Not really," I lied. While I was fairly certain that this tiny, tap-happy stranger was harmless, I've been in this city long enough to know that there's a fine line between friendly and freaky. Strangers, even sweet ones, don't need to know my business.
Suddenly the man leaned in, tugging at my elbow. "Patrick," he whispered, his voice filled with joy. "You should name him Patrick."
Seriously, being pregnant in this city just gets weirder and weirder.