I was grocery shopping, pre-second pregnancy, and bumped into a guy we knew. He obviously had no concept of tact as he inquired about when I might be conceiving another child. See, he and his wife had managed to boost their conception count to two so why hadn’t I? I stammered something like, “We have been trying for some years now but maybe my body is trying to tell me it’s old and tired” because I couldn’t believe anyone could think it was A-OK to just ask a question like that.
I wished I could have come up with a response off the cuff that would have made his jaw drop. Like, “Well my sister tried to carry our baby for us but then her spleen exploded and we lost both. But thanks for bringing that painful memory up you douche bag.” In retrospect, it seems our situation was just a matter of wrongly timed amour.
I once inferred someone was pregnant without their announcement of it first. Yes, awkward and huge regrettable faux pas moment. But somehow being in the presence of an actual pregnant person seems to open up a whole new floodgate of stupid. People feel permitted to touch or comment freely on a woman’s body when she’s pregnant.
Surely people don’t mean to be unkind when they say things like “Are you sure you’re not expecting twins?” Cue the laugh track. I’m only halfway through this ordeal but I suspect I’ll hear this from more than this one closet comedian. So I’ve come up with my retort. As I gesture Vanna-like to my belly, I say,” I’m building a lounge. This baby’s going to ride in cushy comfy style for the next four months.”
Yes, please ask before you touch my body. Even hugs are consensual. No, I’m not carrying twins. The baby’s due at the end of February. And no we’re not finding out what it is. We are currently undecided on a boy’s name. The girl’s name, leftover from last time, is Fiona Marie. Any other questions? Because this is what my husband says. “Do you really wanna know? Because I’ll tell ya’ if you really wanna know.” Do you feel lucky punk? Ask me what I think about your belly why dontcha.