You may choose to blame my pregnancy hormones, or society's downward spiral into lack of tact, but today I'm a little cranky about things that people find appropriate to say to a pregnant woman. I'm not talking about children, or even non-moms who've never done this before. They are blissfully ignorant and should remain that way until (or if) they eventually become pregnant themselves. I'm specifically referring to other women who've DONE this before and should know to have a little compassion, or tact.
Here are two from today:
So are you getting tired of being pregnant? Let's be clear, there are two parts of pregnancy that I like: the beginning and the end. The beginning, for obvious reasons, and the end because labor is a lot like running a marathon. I'm all excited and giddy with anticipation to start the race/labor, and once you get through labor and power through that brick wall at 20 miles and cross the finish line, you feel accomplished and hyped up on the surge of endorphins. Plus, you get a baby out of the labor, which is better than any marathon medal I've taken home. But the middle? The 40+ weeks of misery? I was tired of that from the second the test popped positive. So yes, I'm tired of being pregnant.
And for the record, that question came from a family member who knows how much I hate being pregnant, so really, it was just a cruel question to remind me of the 16 weeks I have left. (Like the SPD that causes my crotch to feel like it's being ripped apart and the recurring nausea and exhaustion aren't enough!) This is the third time in four years that I've done this, I was tired of it the first time, and Chester and Baby3 should just be thankful I was willing/stupid enough to do it again after I knew what I was getting in for!
You getting big yet? Or how much have you gained? Or my, you're huge. Or any other size-related comment. My grandmother asks stupid questions like this every time we get on the phone. There is no reason to ever comment on the size of a pregnant woman. I've looked five months pregnant since about the first week, thanks to the extra 10 pounds I never lost after Chester, and the horrible gas/indigestion/bloating that goes with my first 20 weeks of pregnancy. So when strangers ask, I just give them the answer they expect: I'm five months. Who cares if I was actually 8 weeks? These people are never going to see me again. And for those, like Grandma, who will see me again know better, I just explain that I'm five months and the baby is due in January. Hmm, doesn't that make for a 13 month pregnancy? Yes, Grandma, that's why my babies are so big.
But, for the record, I did not berate either person who asked me these questions today. I smiled and gritted my teeth and said "Only 16 more weeks to go, we're so excited!" and "We're right on target according to the midwife".
Then I hung up the phone and had some saltwater taffy.