The Hazards of Tropical Fruit Shopping

I went in to get a pineapple. 

Because: pineapples, right?  I've been popping bites of acidic fruit for days in hopes of jump-starting my labor.

Because: I've never been this pregnant in my life.

In my shopping cart, Lauren sang herself a song while I tried to keep a calm face.  There was no pineapple to be seen.  The entire, beautiful produce section was void of tropical fruit (for some reason; not that October has anything to do with it.).  I was very nearly distraught; a common habit for me this week.

From between the pumpkins and the grapes, a well-dressed lady smiled at me.  A very pretty lady.  One who made me want to waddle back home and at least apply some mascara or put on a pair of clean jeans. 

"Hi, how are you today?!" she chirped.

"Good, thanks."  No need to tell the poor girl the truth, right?  She seemed nice.

"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

Uhm...I peeked over my shoulder, sure there was somebody else she'd rather be speaking with.  "Sure," I stammered.

"Great!"  She was clearly elated.  "We're asking people about their produce purchases today; do you ever buy organic?"

"Oh, yeah." I answered.  "I mean, sometimes."

"Why only sometimes?"

"Well it just depends on how much I think I can afford.  Organic is somewhat out of our price range in the grocery store."

I wanted to talk to her all of a sudden.  I wanted to allow my mind to detach from my non-laboring body -- from the moments ticking past that will allow me the natural childbirth I so hope for -- and latch onto other interesting things. 

I wanted to explain that buying from the farmer's market, while not always guaranteed to be organic, feels less like buying from a factory so if I can get to one and it has what I need, that's my preference.  I wanted to tell her that I'm usually willing to pay more for organic, free-range meats and chicken, and I like that my favorite store now sells cage-free eggs.  I wanted to tell her that organic is really wonderful, but sometimes discouraging: who can afford such extravagance?

She nodded and smiled encouragingly.  "That's what we're hearing a lot of lately.  Would you mind if I interviewed you?"

"Okay.  Or...wait.  Like, an on-camera interview?"  A young man had materialized by the lady's side with a piece of equipment.  He nodded.  She nodded.  "Oh, gosh...I would but..."  I pictured my puffy face, red nosed from bouts of anxious tears all morning.  I pictured my unwashed hair.  My chapped lips.

And suddenly, I was saying things again.  "I really would love to, but I'm just not feeling my best right now.  Today's my due date, and as you can see, I'm not having a baby yet.  So I've been a wreck for days, especially this morning.  I'd rather not talk on camera; I'm sorry!"

Tears were pooling on my lower eyelids.  I hadn't said a thing about organic produce, like I had intended.  Instead, I'd backpedaled onto my ever-present belly.

The lady looked overwhelmed.  (Understandably so -- sheesh.)  But the camera man, he was nodding sympathetically.  "I remember when my wife felt that way -- I completely understand."

I wanted to hug him.  But that would have made me cry some more.  So I apologized again, and walked away. 

To beg the produce-man to find me a pineapple from the back room.

Which he did.