"My goodness! How many you got in there?"
Blink. "Excuse me?"
"I said," the gentleman winked and continued in his authentic southern drawl, "how many you got in there?" He pointed at my mid-section with a grin.
"Uh..." I looked down at the rounded maternity shirt (which may or may not have had a small smudge of strawberry jam on it). "Just the one, so I'm told."
He whistled. "I woulda sworn you had three or four in there!"
I briefly compared our weight classes, wondering if I could take him, but thought better of brawling in Target. A fist fight would upset my long-suffering husband. I tried my cutest smile on for size and laughed, "Well, he'll be tall and handsome, just like his daddy!"
That worked. He said, "Awww", and I wasn't forced to punch him. Thus I escaped, dignity barely intact.
Just to be clear, I did not know this man. To this day, my memory has created him from an amalgam of several events, because I was stopped so many times by random individuals that I eventually crushed them all into a single memory in order to conserve space. Male, female, young, old, it mattered not - strangers thought themselves perfectly qualified to comment on my size and shape.
Stranger Danger.
This segment will offer stratagems for dealing with well-meaning strangers, but next week, I will include tips for acquaintances and family members. While this post could mislead you into thinking only the wandering sociopaths of Walmart are going to address your burgeoning middle, I cannot in good conscience allow you to proceed misinformed. Your mother won't warn you of Stranger Danger because she will consider it perfectly natural for her (and all her friends) to comment/offer advice/dictate your taste in layettes. But more on that later...
You will, of course, be thrilled when the bump is obvious. It's much nicer for random strangers to open doors for you, because it means you no longer just look pale and bloated. The early months can be distressing, for no one offers assistance when you are bent miserably over a shopping cart in the canned goods aisle and praying for relief from morning sickness.
Unfortunately, just because you are not sporting a bump doesn't mean that other symptoms won't fetch comment. I remember a particularly evil week of the first trimester, still reeling from the life-altering, nausea-inducing miracle that was my first pregnancy, when I crawled from the couch to our studio to teach a piano lesson. The precocious nine-year old scrambled through her first three scales, then spun about on the bench with the air of an interrogator. "Do you know," she demanded, "that your acne is all over your neck now too?"
"Yes, thank you," I answered. It was hard not to notice the constellations.
"Okay." She returned to the keys, satisfied.
But she was more curious as the months went on. As my due date neared, she would look more and more appalled when I welcomed her to her lesson. "You're enormous!" she would cry. Or, "Can you still drive?!"
That one brought out the irate-piano-teacher sigh. "Of course, I can still drive!" I said. "There's nothing wrong with my brain!" Which was a lie.
"But how do you fit behind the wheel?" she asked. The spirit of honest curiosity was too adorable to be infuriating. Cute nine-year-olds get away with everything.
"The truth is," I admitted, "I have to push the seat back a bit. But I can still drive. And I can still tell when you fake your left hand fingering - so let's try that scale again, shall we?"
Response Tactic #1: Gentle Distraction
One of the basic rules of good conversation is to ask questions about the other person. If at all possible, turn attention away from the bump and back to your questioner. A good friend once gave this gem of wisdom to me: If someone should happen to reach out and pat your belly, saying, "Oh! Aren't you adorable?!", you should feel free to respond by patting their belly, saying, "Aren't you the cutest flabby lady there ever was?"
Moving on from the well-meaning or clueless stranger, we address the randomly impertinent and malicious. I have heard from girlfriends again and again of strangers whispering everything from, "Babies are hard!" (Seriously? Duh.) to outright, "Ugh! My life was completely over once my kids showed up."
I also found that resentment can linger. While standing in a crafts store checkout, I was accosted from behind by two middle-aged ladies. After the obligatory comments, "You must be due yesterday!" and the response, "No... just six months in, thanks," they exchanged glances and leaned forward. "Kids are the worst," one began.
The other nodded. "It's true. My kids are monsters."
"Ungrateful little wretches."
My jaw may have dropped a little. "Oh?"
"Enjoy the little time left, honey," the first said, shaking her head. "They destroy your body."
"Oh, yes they do," her friend agreed. Her weathered face scowled. "You're never the same."
"As soon as that baby shows up, it's all over."
The cashier and I were staring in horror at this point, though she was trying to help me complete my transaction as quickly as possible. "Sign here," she whispered.
"Remember what I told you," the first crone cackled, which was when I realized she had to be a descendant of one of the Macbeth witches. "Babies are the worst!"
"Little monsters!" the other chimed in.
"Soon, you will look just like us!"
"Hideous - Like us! Like US!" they howled in wicked unison.
I fled as fast as my swollen feet would allow.
Response Tactic #2: Grateful Inquiry
When confronted with a doomsayer, try to appear both horrified and naive. After they declare, "Kids ruin your life!", respond with earnest sincerity, "Oh, no! I'm so glad you warned me! Is that what happened to you? Am I going to become cruel, inappropriate, and ugly too?"
Then run, or waddle, or duck behind a book display.
There is a line.
There is a line that shouldn't be crossed. According to the wise philosopher Bill Cosby, one should never ask a woman if she's pregnant. One may only assume the woman was pregnant if you are standing in the delivery room and see her birth a child. Then one may exclaim, "Oh! You were pregnant!" In no other circumstances is it entirely safe to ask. Mr. Cosby is a wise man.
But not everyone understands this. It is important to be kind and considerate to those who have not been trained. It is probably wrong to take advantage of them. But ---
Response Tactic #3: Play Dumb
Three weeks from my due date with my son, I was standing in a Starbucks. I want to say that I was there to get an organic green tea, but you and I both know that I was waiting for a Strawberries 'N Creme frappecino because it was July in North Carolina and I was melting. Anyway, while waiting for the barista, I moved to the end of the counter where I would block the least amount of traffic. A gentleman also awaiting his order looked up from his phone just long enough to smile and say, "Congratulations."
On sudden impulse, I played dumb. I stared at him, blankly. "For what?" I snapped.
His face went completely white. The jaw trembled and he gasped for air. "I-I..-I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"It's okay! I'm kidding!" I smiled reassuringly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I've wanted to do that for soooo long - you have no idea - I'm a terrible person. I'm sorry."
I wasn't, really.
Play Dumb has to go into the advice portion because it works. (A little too well.)
And I may be a horrible, terrible, vengeful goddess, but there comes a limit to what one can endure from the random public. At some point, you must defend yourself. I will back you up.
However, not all are vicious. Not every stranger is out to make you cry. I have other stories too, stories of kind gentlemen who hold the doors and insist on helping carry the groceries. Stories of kind ladies who murmur, "I remember those days. They are the best. Treasure every moment." In those cases, one should not answer, "You treasure it! I can't walk through a grocery store deli aisle without needing a Zofran tablet." One should respond --
Response Tactic #4: "Thank you".
"Thank you." Be gracious. Say, "Thank you", and move on.
If they try to touch the bump during flu season, put a hand gently to your cheek and say, "Dear me, I'm not feeling very well. You don't want to come near us", which isn't a lie, because you're not going to feel 100% yourself ever, because about 30% of you is busy becoming someone else.
But realize that some of the interference is just an attempt to reconnect to what is widely-remembered to be a glorious time of life. Most ladies don't recall the itchy skin and thinning hair. They remember the first flutters of baby feet. They remember the joy of growing hope and the tiny fuzzy baby socks.
So let them remember with rose-colored glasses and say, "Thank you."
Be sure to subscribe! In the next post, We'll discuss how to tell your family that you're bringing an addition to the next reunion!
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