I don't know what it is about the figure of a woman great with child that makes near strangers lose all sense of propriety and decorum. It is as if the token phrases, "congratulations," "when are you due?" and "do you know if you are having a boy or a girl?" are suddenly, inexplicably insufficient.
For example, the approximately nine-year-old boy who asked me if I was going to have the baby right here, right now. Forgive me, but I am not prepared to discuss childbirth - mine or any other - with a sarcastic, pre-pubescent boy.
Or the older woman who loudly exclaimed from across a populated room about my swollen ankles, declaring that there is no way I am going to make it to my due date. (Just in case the pregnant lady isn't already self-conscious about her body's unfamiliar shape, her clumsy movements, or the extra twenty pounds she's lugging around, let's make sure she knows how awful her feet look, too. I mean, really.) What should I say when someone I do not even know tells me I will be lucky to make it to within two weeks of my due date? "Um, thank you"?
Now, if you are already an acquaintance, someone who has at least chatted with me about other aspects of life at times prior to becoming aware of my pregnancy, I am fine with a few questions or tidbits of helpful advice. I love to share the latest bits of progress on the nursery, or how active Baby has been lately; and if you really care, I will tell you about my latest ache or pain.
But, if you are a middle-aged man with a beer belly and you just happen to know my first name, do not imagine that it is clever - or even appropriate - to compare my growing circumference to yours. They are not the same.
--End of rant--
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