I remember being pregnant. About seven months pregnant. One of New York City’s finest said to me when I stopped at a crosswalk, “Carrying twins?”
“Uh, no,” I said, staring down at my belly which was slowly becoming a shelf.
“Oh, you must be ready to pop then.”
“Nope,” I said. “Seven months.”
“Seven months,” he said, giving me the Jackie Gleason of wide-eyed looks. “You’re huge!”
Yeah, thanks buddy.
I wish I had a shirt that said: “Shut up about my pregnancy and tell me I look great.” But people love to give advice about pregnancies, and babies, and sometimes more.
In a hilarious essay on McSweeney’s, Wendy Molyneux‘s gripe is with strangers on the street who tell her how to take care of her baby. I’ll give you a snippet for your amusement.
Oh nice lady, you are probably right! I should definitely cover his face always so he doesn’t get sun on it. If he is exposed to the sun for even one moment, even as I am simply walking from the mechanic to a coffee shop where I have to unexpectedly stop to feed him because my car broke down, he will probably immediately get sun disease or burst into flames.
Now, let’s add to the list shall we?
1. Thank you for telling me that my nose ring is infected. I love it when people stare THISCLOSE into my face.
2. Thank you for informing me that my son is tired even though he just got up from a 3 hour nap. Of course, you’re right, it has nothing to do with the cookie.
3. You’re right. I shouldn’t expect my husband to tell me that I look good in these jeans, because your husband never tells you.
Image: Flickr/Creative Commons/Ed Yourdon