This is an oldie but goodie. I think I wrote it when I was near the end of my pregnancy. It was at the part that is no longer blissful, the part where you feel like you have been pregnant forever. The part where your body is pulled so tight if someone stuck you with a pin, you’d pop. This is when you are counting down to your due date.
Can I touch it?
My stomach is not some inanimate object. It is attached to my body housing a living, breathing person. Can you touch my stomach? Maybe. It? Hell no, because I don’t know what it is!
What are you having?
I respond, “A giraffe”. Straight faced. I would like to note that one of my students’ asked if I knew the gender of my baby, I gladly responded by smiling and giving her the appropriate information.*
Are you having twins?
What I hear: You are the size of a small house and there is no way there can be only one baby inside of you. Really? You want to call a hormonal, pregnant lady that can eat you, FAT? My answer to the question varies depending on my level of pissedosity. (new word)
Hope you are having a boy!
The feminist in me is appalled. This is America jack! (Cue Coming to America) Why is a boy child valued more than a girl child? Women themselves tell me how much easier it is to have a boy than a girl. I wish these self-hating women would have several seats. Isn’t the goal to have a healthy baby no matter the gender?
How many months are you?
This may seem an innocent enough question but doctors speak to us in terms of weeks not months. I can tell you how many weeks I am and I will let you do the conversion. PSA: you stay preggers for 10 mos. not 9. If you don’t know, now you know.
I hope this little rant will make you a more sensitive human being when dealing with pregnant women. And if it doesn’t, I hope at least I made you laugh.
~A King’s Ma
*At the time this was written we were not telling the gender. It’s a boy!