I don't know why people insist on doing it! Other than their claims "I'm just trying to be nice!" which overlooks a couple important points I will touch on in a moment.
The only reason I've found that seems to make sense is that: pregnancy is beautiful.
It's just beautiful.
A woman round with child imminently about to go on a life-changing adventure.
What could be greater than that!
And as a consequence, other people, strangers, want to be a part of that. They have a compulsive need to interact with the pregnant woman so they can feel that in some small way they've had a part of that beautiful pregnancy.
I hate that.
My pregnancy isn't something for strangers to snatch a piece of as they pass by! It's mine. Mine! Perhaps this sounds selfish, but, at times, it can feel very violating. Something that is mine is snatched from my possession and waved about, being soiled by other people's eyes, fingers, thoughts upon it. I hate it.
But let's look back on that "just being nice/friendly/neighborly/whatever" argument.
True story:
I manage to get out of the car in the parking lot of Walmart. My child's head is so low that rocking my pelvic bone (which is involved in, you know, walking) is super painful. (Also, rolling over in the middle of the night or trying to get out of bed which occurs every hour or so. So, sleep-wise, I'm not doing so hot.) I stand up and waddle inside looking to be in and out quickly as quickly as possible. But, of course, I have just stood up. Which means my first stop in Walmart is at the lavatory. Gross.
I am out of the lavatory and looking for my husband, who went to get a cart. We have just been reunited and are about to be off into the bowels of the beast when a woman comes up behind me, steps up just a pace in front of me, before extending her arm at me and says, "You ready to go?!"
...Who are you? Go where? Do I know you?
"You ready to go?!" she gesticulates at my stomach.
"Ah ha ha!" I force out of my mouth as I've finally realized that she's talking about my pregnancy. But this one is worse than most. It appears that she wants me to dialogue with her about my pregnancy.
"You're pregnant! You ready to go!?!"
At this point, I turned around and walked away.
My mommy always said that if I didn't have anything nice to say, not to say anything at all.
Behind me I hear her shout at my husband, "I was just trying to be nice!"
Ok. Nothing you have done here, by any stretch of the imagination, was nice. I am tired and trying to get out of here. And you, you are not only getting in my way but acting like my pregnancy is yours to comment on. You're a stranger!
Now, in sharp juxtaposition to this, on the same Walmart outing, which is to say, my mood and condition is exactly the same, if not worsened by the above encounter, I had the following encounter:
Our items were collected and we were off to the checkout line. Between us and the line was a table for cable equipped with cable salespeople. Generally, when we pass this table, we say "We don't own a TV" and keep on walking as the salespeople slink back to their table waiting to pounce on the next passerby. This time the call to us wasn't for cable, but a small request to explain our intentions with the contents of our cart.
I looked down at our cart and back at them.
"Pumpkin Spice Pancakes!"
And a dialogue commenced. Pumpkin. Fall. Other baked goods. Until finally:
"May I ask when you're due?"
"Oct 14th!"
"That's a good time, you know, with..." and more talk on the joys of fall before any attention was redirected at my pregnancy.
These people didn't feel like my pregnancy belonged to them to call out to me as it pleased them! These people felt like I, as a person, was worth investing time for (an albeit short) relationship with me. The comments about my pregnancy weren't a desperate attempt to stick their fingers in the beauty of pregnancy. They were a furthering of our relationship.
I may never see Elizabeth and James the cable salespeople again, but I will remember them fondly.
Falling in the middle of the spectrum, lies our encounter at Moe's:
I was standing up to leave, when a mother with approximately a throng of children looks up from her food and says to me, "Wow! You're about to pop!"
It required nothing of me and I continued to leave. But as I was walking to my car, I just had to wonder: why? Why was it so important to you to tell me that? Why couldn't you have commented on my pregnancy to your husband after I left? (It is, of course, the desire to stick her fingers in my pregnancy. It apparently doesn't count unless the pregnant lady knows you've commented.) But pointing out my expanding size maybe fun for you, full of nostalgia maybe, but for me it's a 20 lb bowling ball strapped underneath my skin. It is actually not nice to comment.
To all of you who claim that your finger sticking is "just being nice", holding a pregnant woman hostage to the requirements of social niceties to strangers is not nice. We did not leave the house to be hassled by strangers who "know" the gender of our child based off how our stomachs look or who want to know how ready we are to be done with this stage of life. And while we pregnant women are aware that you didn't know that you were the 15th person today to inquire about our bump, you probably are. And that's just too many.
So instead of "being nice" by commenting on how it looks like I'm real close now (at 7 months pregnant), be real nice in quiet practical ways. Let us cut in the checkout or bathroom line. Slip us a $5 giftcard to the store we're shopping at and wish us well. Or simply pull your cart over to the side while we're coming down the aisle.
(I do believe than an exception to the above is when a pregnant woman comes to an event intended for socialization. Here, she did leave the house to talk with strangers! So, here it's ok, but remember you'll be better received if you start a relationship with her first, then her impending bundle of poop.)
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