Now that I’m at the tail-end of my pregnancy, I figured I’d let out a small rant. I think it’s warranted.
- Demanding I choose my due date. For example:
“When are you due?”
“Oh, you need to wait until January 22nd to have that baby. That’s when my son, little Junior So-and-So was born!”
“Really. That’s great.”
Honestly, people, I cannot squeeze my legs together and keep the baby in if she wants to come out. Nor can I jump up and down and shake myself like a Coke bottle until she erupts forth from my vagina like a mass of bubbles and fizz. This baby will come when she is ready.
- Repeatedly asking me when I am due, especially if I see you on a regular basis. I understand that not everyone is as invested in this pregnancy as my husband and I are. That goes without saying. But if I know you relatively well, and you ask me every single time you see me (which is weekly or more than once a week) when I’m due, I’m going to get tired of sounding like a broken record. I’m going to start making shit up, just to see if you’re paying attention. “FebuMarch 40th, 2010.” Another question that could set off a pregnant woman into a rage is, “When’s that baby gonna get here?” I swear, if I get asked that one more f-ing time, I’m going to lose it. How am I supposed to know when she’s going to be here, for crying out loud? My psychic abilities don’t kick in until I’m 30, sorry.
- Gawking at how big/small I am. You really cannot win with this, folks. It’s best when you see a pregnant woman to say, “Wow, you look wonderful!” I don’t need to hear that I’m huge, nor do I want to hear that I’m super small. I am aware that my belly has grown since you last saw me; that’s what happens when a woman is pregnant. The baby grows, and so does the woman’s belly. It’s been happening for thousands of years, so stop acting so shocked that I have a swollen tummy.
- Staring at me like I have three heads when I mention my birth/parenting style of choice. Or, giving me a sympathetic/condescending smile and tell me that “that’ll change”. Yes, I’m planning a natural childbirth. No, I’m not insane. Yes, I’m aware childbirth hurts. Oh, you had an epidural? That’s fantastic, good for you. Of course I’m aware that I may change my mind, but I’m going to try my best not to. Oh, you wanted a natural childbirth too but just couldn’t do it? I’m sorry, when did my life and yours become the same thing?
No, we’re not planning on co-sleeping. I don’t care if it’s easier to breastfeed in the middle of the night. We’re not doing it. And stop looking at me with that LOOK and tell me to “wait and see, I’ll change my mind”. I’ll stick to my guns JUST TO PROVE YOU WRONG, because I am stubborn, so is my husband and THAT’S HOW WE ROLL.
- “When I was pregnant back in 1874” stories. I don’t care what was the breastfeeding style (or lack thereof), clothing style, parenting style, or childbirthing style when you were pregnant back in the Dark Ages. It’s 2009. Times have changed. Get over it.
- Making fun/poking jokes/openly criticizing my kid’s name. This one. Oooohhh, this one just makes my blood boil thinking about it. I’m aware that our name of choice is not run of the mill. Let me explain something. Nellie was my grandmother and she died when I was ten. I have wanted to name my first daughter Nellie pretty much since I was a teenager. I made this clear to my sibling, and all of my cousins: the name Nellie is MINE. I’ve had dibs for a long time. Upon hearing what we’re naming our daughter, I’ve mostly gotten a positive reception but I have gotten a few gems that made me want to fly off the handle and rage. Here are a few:
“Nellie? Like that bitch from Little House on the Prairie?”
“Nellie, huh? Are you gonna call her Nell, like that retard in that movie? HUH HUH.”
“Like the rapper?”
And this one, readers.. Was my personal “favorite”. It happened just the other day while I was sitting at work, minding my own business. The following exchange occurred between me and a woman who works in the building I do.
“Hey there Natalie, when’s that baby due?”
*trying not to scream, as I’ve told this woman at least 5 times* “January 17th.”
“And what are you gonna call it?”
“HER name is Nellie Rose.”
“You know she’s going to hate you for naming her that, right?”
This is what I heard in my head, ya’ll:
What I wanted to do was calmly grab the coffee cup sitting beside me, and lob it forcefully at her head until I heard a satisfying CLUNK. What I said was,
“Well, she doesn’t have much of a say in the matter, does she?”
The woman replied, “Oh I know it, but you just know that when she gets older she’s going to be like, ‘Mother! You gave me such a stupid name. It’s so old fashioned!'”
URGE TO KILL. RISING. RISING. I’m not sure what it is about people making fun of
Nellie’s name. I think, to me, it’s like making fun of her and that raises my hair on end and makes me feel like an angry lioness about to defend her cub. I seriously want to rage at anyone who have something negative to say about my little daughter’s name.
I know this post sounds really bitchy, hormonal and ranty but really… I’m 9 months pregnant, I’m tired, cranky, and deserve a good rant every now and again, damnit. Hopefully my fellow pregnant women (and people who have been in my shoes) will have gotten a good chuckle out of this. If you are suddenly frightened by your friendly internet blogger, please don’t be. Just set down something tasty for me to eat, slowly back away, and you’ll be fine.