So, let’s have a chat.
Now, I’m aware that the majority of my blog followers are fellow pregnant ladies, so they will read this and nod emphatically while clapping their hands together and saying, “Preach!” <In my head, apparently all my followers are sassy ;-)>
I do hope, however, that a non-pregnant person might happen to stroll by this post, read a few bullet points, and then go teach other people to stop being such assholes.
Let’s begin.
If you can, offer up your chair.
I’m a high school teacher and had the privilege of watching several of my children graduate last Friday. It was a sweet occasion, particularly because I witnessed their struggles first hand. The pride I felt was overwhelming. Well, and there was a bit of relief at knowing I would never again have to tutor, argue with, chide, push, and grade those children ever again. (Until the new set comes in next year…)
However, the happy ceremony will always be marred for me. Because at almost 34 weeks pregnant with insane sciatica and a 5ft frame that can barely support my boobs, much less the belly…not a single person offered me a seat. The event was a sold out show, as it were, and I stood the entire 3 hours.
Three holy-shit-I-can’t-feel-my-extremities-my-back-is-about-to-snap-in-half-my-fingers-have-swelled-to-the-size-of-a-sausage hours.
At one point, I noticed an empty seat in the section I had been tasked with monitoring. Excited at the potential for some relief, I waddled over and asked if the seat was taken. The woman turned to look at me and said, “Yes, my son will be here shortly.” I just nodded and sadly lumbered back to the dent I made in the floor and continued my vigil.
And wouldn’t you know, when her son finally showed up an hour late, he was 15 fucking years old and kept his headphones in the whole time while playing on his phone?
Moral of the story: if you see a pregnant lady whose belly has its own gravitational pull, offer her your chair if you can. Chances are she is suffering and you letting her sit down will be the nicest thing that happens to her all day.
Do not harp on about her hugeness.
Bro, I know I’m big. I think being pregnant makes people think it’s ok to tell a girl she is large.
“Wow, you get bigger every time I see you!” Yeah, I’m on the hobbit meal plan. It includes two breakfasts and noonsies after luncheon.
“Jeez, you’re huge! Haven’t you popped yet?” Obviously not.
“I swear, there must be twins in there.” Naw, but he has been weight training using my liver.
I’m not an overly emotional person, or one who takes things too seriously. And truly, I understand that most of the time, people are EXCITED I’m this big, because in their mind, that means baby is healthy and growing. This particular grievance comes from the fact that these comments are not original, and to be honest…they are getting kind of old. I know I’m big, so unless you are going to comment on my rotundity with some originality, just save your breath. Or better yet, buy me a donut, remind me that I’m a fucking champion for growing this baby, and move on.
Moral of the story: unless you are hilarious and original, keep your fat comments to yourself.
Unless you are about to pee on yourself, let the pregnant lady jump you in line.
This past weekend, we traveled a few hours away to attend our baby shower my family was throwing for us. We had to make several stops on the way there because Raylan has discovered that he can push off of my bladder with his little fists and bounce into my diaphragm. Obviously, this hurts and causes me to pee myself on a regular basis.
In any case, on one such incident, we squealed to a halt outside of a McDonald’s so that I could hightail it into the bathroom. As I limped/shuffled to the restroom, I noticed there was a woman standing outside the bathroom. I raised my eyebrows and smiled at her, a nonverbal inquiry as to her purpose. And she responded by looking me up and down and saying, “The line starts behind me.”
Wellllllllllllllll, okay then.
While waiting in line with her, Raylan performed his little stunt two or three more times. Each time, I bent over slightly, pressed my lips together, and clenched every muscle below my waist. Don’t piss your pants at McDonald’s, don’t piss your pants at McDonald’s.
The woman was not impressed with me. She sighed a couple times before finally entering the bathroom as another woman exited. I pushed in after her because I figured if I did pee on myself, it would be easier to handle in the bathroom as opposed to standing in the dining room.
Moral of the story: if you see a pregnant lady whose eyes are turning yellow from the force of which she is holding back her urine, let her hop in front of you if you can hold it.
Do you have any other common courtesies you would like to be shown as a pregnant person?
Adventures with the Clawsons 