"Tired, exhausted, but okay," I say.
"When is the baby due?" they say.
"Soon," I say. "Very soon."
"Wow, but how is she? Is she okay?"
"Yes, she's resting at home."
Sure, I'm not pregnant.
Sure, I don't have a little alien inside of me taking all my nutrients and energy.
Maybe I have it a little easier.
But I like to be asked how I am.
Sometimes, at least. Maybe occasionally. Maybe once a month. Okay, once a year, that's fine, that's it. No more.