I received my first comments from the peanut gallery about my pregnancy today.
â€œYou should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests you think she’s pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.â€ â€“ Dave Barry (Tangent: Check out the book, â€œBabies and Other Hazards of Sexâ€ by my hero Dave Barry. Itâ€™s hilarious and likely based not entirely in fiction.)
I was headed down the hall at work this morning, aiming for the elevators because I no longer do stairs. A random guy was headed down the same hallway in the opposite direction (he probably takes the stairs). As our paths crossed, he developed a very goofy look and pointed at me exclaiming, â€œGirl!â€
Why yes, I am indeed a girl. Granted I work at a company with numerous engineering nerds â€“ but Iâ€™d be willing to wager that about half the company population comprises female nerds, engineering or otherwise. Good observation skills sir!
It then occurred to me that he might be referring to my five-month large protruding belly. â€œTwo boys,â€ I replied with a smile.
â€œWow, I was totally off!â€ And he continued on his merry way â€“ detouring into the coffee bar to caffeinate himself. I laughed, thinking, â€œYouâ€™re really lucky I am pregnant scooter.â€
Jon posited that I should be pleased that people assume I am pregnant, not just fat. To be clear, this morningâ€™s exchange didnâ€™t offend me in any way. I thought it was funny.
Especially because todayâ€™s post on The Poop, the baby/parenting blog from the San Francisco Chronicle, is titled, â€œAt what point do you acknowledge someone is pregnant?â€
It concludes, â€œAnd that, among other reasons, is why the phrase â€˜so … when is the baby due?â€™ isn’t in my vocabulary. It’s the royal flush of awkward situations.â€
I am prepared to face more of these people â€“ the touchers, those with â€œhelpfulâ€ advice and, of course, the pregnancy police. I know theyâ€™re out there. And oh the stories Iâ€™ll share.