The Mrs. Title

I am sitting on a plane as I write this. We are mid-Christmas-vacation headed for a beach. 

A baby moon is what people call it these days, isn't it? That time in your second trimester when you are no longer puking your guts out, nor too huge to fit in a swimsuit. The best time for a last hurrah for you and your husband to get some quality time before 2, 5, and 8 am feedings, and diapers claim your willingness to do anything but sleep and cuddle your newborn. 

But where was I? Oh yes, on this plane, where for the first time ever I was called a Mrs. 

You see, unlike in American planes, airlines in South America are quite... customer friendly. The leg room is ample, the bathrooms are cleaner, and they still serve food on the plane at {gasp!} no charge. 

So when the charming flight attendant asked: "Pardon Mrs. How would you like your cafe au lait?", I was not only surprised at his gentle demeanor {and the fact that he knew how to make a cafe au lait} but also at the fact that he called me a Mrs. 

Now, I am aware that I am wearing a wedding ring, my husband is sitting next to me, I have a fairly obvious baby bump in front of me, and I am reading 'Bringing up Bébé', so I should not be surprised at the title. Yet I was. And for the first time ever, right here on this plane, it hit me. I am a Mrs. I am a mother. Oh my God  I am reading a baby book!

So I did the only reasonable thing I could do. I drank my incredibly well made cafe au lait, and made peace with the title. 

Baby moon, here we come!


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