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A Pregnant Pause

Today my son turns 22.  And besides being excited for him, you know that such an occasion reminds me of a story.

When I was about eight months pregnant, I walked into a closing attorney’s office, lost in my own thoughts. Upon spying me, the receptionist let out an audible gasp as all the color drained from her face.

I thought that such a response had to be meant for someone else. Frightened, I turned around, expecting that a masked man with a gun had come in at the same time as me. Nope; I was alone in the doorway.

By the time I turned around again, there were three people grabbing my arms and propelling me towards a lobby chair. What the hell was going on?

Amidst the murmurings of concern for me and the panicky asides between of the people around me, I figured out that a pregnant woman’s water had broken at a closing in the office just half an hour prior to my arrival. The paramedics whisked her out while she was wailing, “My baby can’t come now. I’m not ready!”

After that unsettling experience, no one was ready to see another pregnant woman arrive. When the hubbub lessened, I reassured them that I felt fine. However, if they wanted to get me out before my son arrived, how about they streamline the closing and get us out in under an hour?  

When the other parties to the closing arrived (I’d been early), they all marveled at how fast the closing sped along. I didn’t take a bow at the end (I was too thick around the middle), but I certainly should have!

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