It happened.

Somebody who doesn't know me asked me if I have kids.

David and I had just had a conversation about what we would say and both agreed that our answer would depend on the situation and that was okay.  David said that it is a question he will never again ask anyone.  I said I guess I would only ask someone if I was willing and able to tell them our story.  And then today it happened.

I was getting my nails done.  Just my fingernails.  Because when I have a manicure and my nails look pretty, I think I look like I'm the sort of person who has her shit together.  Which clearly I am not at the moment, but there's at least something to be said for keeping up the facade, right?  (It's just like how surprisingly normal and clean a lot of people look even though they are on Hoarders look.  You could never tell that their bathroom is dripping black mold because their hair is done and they seem to wear deodorant and everything.)

So anyway, I was getting my nails done.  Just my fingernails.  Because I painted my toenails myself yesterday, although the girl asked me TWICE if I was sure I didn't want a pedicure and I was like, "OK, so you think my home pedi sucks, obviously, but no, just here for the $9 manicure, thank you very much."

Anyway, she's an Asian girl and I'm not sure where she is from but, based on the foreign language I heard her speaking on the phone, it's not Japan and it's not Korea.  It sounded more like she was speaking Chinese but I don't think that was it either.  Maybe she's from Taiwan?  I think Taiwanese sounds similar to Chinese/Mandarin. 

Point is, she has a pretty strong accent.  I had to ask her to repeat herself a couple of times (so perhaps she thought I didn't understand when she asked if I was sure I didn't want a pedicure the first time) but I like talking to people with accents, including this girl I work with who is Chinese and whose name is Lily, but her accent made me think her name was Liddy when she introduced herself, and she was too shy to correct me, so I kept calling her Liddy until I saw her name written down and now I am mortified because it must have sounded like I was MOCKING her accent by mispronouncing her name on purpose.  Which I was not.  Obviously.  Despite such foibles, I would say that I am actually more inclined to make small talk with people who have accents.  I'm not sure why this is.  Maybe it's because I'm miserable at speaking other languages so I'm totally impressed when anyone is bilingual.  Whatever the reason, I don't mind chatting with the girl at the nail place.

So she asked me about my job and I told her I teach college students.  She appeared shocked by this news, which I chose to believe was because I look like a college student myself, and not because I look mentally incapable of holding a position of authority in an institute of higher education.

She asked me what my husband's job is.  She seemed uninterested in that answer.

And then she dropped the bomb and asked if I had children.

And I took this big dramatic breath.  The nail salon was empty except for me because I went right at the tail end of this raging storm that came through town.  I guess with all the talk of the rapture, I figured if I wanted to get my nails done, there's no time like the present.  And if there's a raging thunderstorm going on, I might as well tempt fate by sitting in a glass-paned window-front retail location.  Because WHY NOT.

So I took this big dramatic breath in the empty nail salon and I felt like it really was a moment of great suspense.  I wasn't even sure myself what my answer would be.  It was like a movie when there's a dramatic pause and the music swells.  (Except in this case the music was a kid singing on the Ellen DeGeneres show.)


Will I decide that it's a passing moment with a girl in a nail salon who certainly doesn't need to hear the details of my grief but is just trying to make pleasant conversation given her limited English language skills and just say no?

Will I just shake my head silently and simply pretend to be enthralled by the Ellen DeGeneres show, thereby killing all further conversation?  (Which, to be fair, I do actually love Ellen but I was not crazy about the song "Unfriend You" that this kid was singing.)

Will I just say "Not at the moment," which seems vague enough that it might suffice, even though it's a weird answer, but obviously English is her second language so she'll probably assume it's normal? 

Will I say yes and pray that she does not ask me to elaborate?  (But of course she would ask me to elaborate... isn't the follow-up question always "How old?")

As I was considering these options, the dramatic pause was long enough that the poor girl thought I didn't understand her and rephrased the question:  "Children?  Child?  Do you have baby?"

And then I said, "Yes.  No.  Yes.  I had a baby but she died."

My eyes filled up with tears but they didn't spill over and I kept my voice steady.

And the poor girl working at the nail salon who has limited English language skills and was now unwittingly caught up in my dead baby saga said, "Oh I am so sorry.  How?"

I said, "It happened before she was born.  When I was still pregnant."  I blinked furiously to keep from crying and looked up toward the ceiling, which was convenient because Ellen was on a wall-mounted television that was up pretty high.

She shook her head and said she was sorry again, and I said, "It's okay.  I'm sorry, too."

Everyone on Ellen was clapping.  

Then she said, "No other children?"

I was like, mercy lady, don't you think if I had other children I probably would have led with that?  Or at least mentioned it already to try to help ease the awkwardness?

But instead I just said, "No, not yet.  Maybe someday.  How about you?" 

I took a deep breath and stared at Ellen's happy studio audience, willing myself not to cry.  Successfully.

The nail salon lady told me she has a three and a half year old.  "Big girl," she said.

"Oh, yeah.  I bet that's fun," I said. 

But no, it appeared I wasn't understanding what she fully wanted to communicate, which was that her three and a half year old was a big girl.  As in FAT. 

So she stops filing my nails and whips out her cell phone to show me a picture of a really fat little girl.  Keep in mind that this lady doing my nails is super tiny.  So it's kind of like she is Eva Longoria and this little girl is the actress who plays Juanita on Desperate Housewives.  It was funny to discover that this tiny lady had such a chubby daughter.  At the same time, I thought this was a really weird way to respond to the fact that my baby died, like this was some kind of attempt at consolation:  "Your baby died?  Well my kid is super fat." 

But then I thought maybe I was over-thinking it.  Either way, it actually made me laugh.  I said, "Oh, she is a big girl."

And then we talked about gel manicures (Evidently they do last longer--can anyone else attest to this fact?  Are they worth the extra expense?) and the weather (big storm here).

What I wouldn't give to have pulled out my cell phone and shown off a picture of my fat, happy, healthy baby girl.  At the same time, it felt kind of like a healing moment, to be able to talk about Eliza with a stranger and not start sobbing uncontrollably.  But it hurts to heal.  It hurts a lot.