Ahh pregnancy, the weight gain, indigestion, and complete loss of control of pretty much all bodily functions. What’s not to love? From the moment you find yourself hanging over the toilet until long after you finally manage to get the little alien out, pregnancy takes all control of your body away from you.
And this is EXACTLY why it is so darn frustrating when some complete stranger decides to rub our bellies.
What is it about a painful large belly, swollen feet and a sweaty, tired face that makes people feel comfortable rubbing up against us? Are they mistaking us for Buddha and hoping that some good fortune will rub off on them? Boy are they in for a surprise! They are more likely to get some leftovers from the lunch we accidentally spilled down the front of our shirts than they are to get a higher likelihood of winning the lottery.
The only thing more pleasant than having some moron rub our bellies without asking (or hell, even with asking permission first….what are we supposed to say?!?!), is having someone prognosticate over our impending birth. You know who I am talking about…
First up there is the person who is convinced they know the sex of the baby. “Oh, you are carrying low, must be a boy.” It doesn’t matter that 6 ultrasounds and a DNA test have all clearly indicated girl, you cannot manage to convince them that they are wrong.
Next up there is the person who thinks it will be hilarious to ask if you are having twins. Even if you are having twins, this question is not acceptable. Has anyone else ever had an overwhelming desire to answer with a complete lie, something like “Close! I’m actually having quadruplets! We can’t wait! We are going to name them Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Mo!” What if we told the truth – “I’m 28 weeks pregnant jerk-off, but thanks for calling attention to the bloating I have from the two burritos and a giant milkshake I had for lunch.”
Last up is my personal favorite, the jackass that asks if you are scared and then proceeds to recount the scariest birth story they have ever heard…and then ends it with “I’m sure that won’t happen to you, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” At that point my pretty little head is ready to whack them right upside their own melon.
So take a lesson non-pregnant people. Don’t rub my belly.