No, that's just my fat belly

Why is it that every time I meet someone new, see friends and family for the first time in years or meet with my personal banker  these people always ask about the kids I don't have? Why do people automatically assume that since I'm over 30 and married for five years that I have three or four kids tugging at my apron strings? Sometimes they skip "do you" and dive right into "how many, how old". And no! I'm not preggers that's just my fat belly and big boobs. People guess that there must be something wrong with me financially, physically or mentally not to want kids. I assure you, there is not.

Now, I've learned my lesson not ask ladies I haven't seen in a while what trimester they're in. If I don't see a head crowning, I keep my big mouth shut. You never know if said gal had a baby three months ago and just hasn't lost the paunch yet.  She could be expecting but the pregnancy isn't going so well or she might have recently found she has a still-born and has to carry to term (shivers and cries, I cannot think of a worse scenario). She could also be fat. So mind your P's and Q's buster; don't ask about a baby until you know for a fact that something is growing inside of the woman you're talking to. You shame yourself and everyone else within earshot.

My mother being the genius she is, has come up with a fool-proof plan to combat members of the boomer generation that constantly badger her about lack of grand kids (she knows her situation of being grand childless is not likely to change any time soon). When the Red Hats whip out their cutie-patootie pics of gurgling infants and little league stars and matheletes my mom volleys with photos of doggies and kittehs and proudly proclaims that these ARE her grand kids.

I've put together a short list of answers to questions I hear weekly (I'm also thinking of tatooing them on my forehead to save time).

Yes, I married five years ago.

No, we don't have kids.

No, we're not planning on it.

No, we're not broke.

No, we're not crazy (most of the time).

No, there's nothing wrong with my girly parts.

Yes, my husband wanted the vasectomy.

No, I didn't talk him into it.

No, there's nothing missing in my life.

No, I'm not considering adoption.

No, it's not because I babysat when I was younger (er um maybe. God that was hell).

Yes, my pets are my kids.

Yes, I'm creeping on being a crazy cat person (with hubby right next to me. You won't catch me at PetSmart in a bathrobe and slippers. I pay with my left hand so the cashier can see my wedding band when I'm buying 50lbs of cat food and 60lbs of litter).

Yes, I'm selfish with my time.

Yes, I'm selfish with my money.

No, I do not think I would make a good mother.

Yes, I'm sure.

No, I won't change my mind.

I hope this clears everything up. I wish the demographic studies department in charge of sending me junk email could figure this out. I constantly get offers for meds or methods that will make me more fertile or increase my chances of conceiving. Of course they also want to help me increase the size of my penis.....