My tri-annual exasperation rant

I'm not going back three years in time to see if I have already ranted about this, but it seems pretty familiar, so chances are that I have.  Humor me.  It's getting harder and harder to be patient with any semblance of tolerance for what is (frankly) often downright rudeness. 

The deal is that I'm pregnant right now, very much so in fact.  I stick out in a crowded hallway (as a colleague of mine unwittingly pointed out once before).  I am sporting a large tummy and have gained many pounds.  About all of this I am already aware.  YOU (the collective individual whom I happen upon in many a public place) don't really need to point any of this out to me. 

And the worst part is that YOU are inevitably a woman. 

C'mon ladies; let's stick together on this one and stick with the ever-so-wonderful to hear (if for no other reason than it's so infrequently stated...around me, at least) "You look great!!" 

I'm fairly tired of being asked "How many days do you have left?"  Good grief...I'm not nearly close enough to that point yet to be thinking days; I'm going on 34 weeks.

I'm never fond of being told "You look like you don't have much longer!"  Again, I'm 34 weeks; yeah, that's "not much longer," but it's also not THAT close.  Assumptions are not really welcome.  This was equally true 2 months ago when the teenager/young 20-something at the grocery store was much, much too enthusiastic about how I was "almost due." 

I abhor the pseudo touching of my belly region and the constant staring at it.  Do I do that to others??  Please, please let it not be so.

I very much dislike having to repeat my due date every week to the same small handful of individuals.  I know that I'm not the focus of your life, but haven't we figured out a rough timeline on this yet?

I, frankly, hate being asked whether I'm having a girl/boy/don't know in the most inopportune moments.  If I'm chasing my kid through a crowded place or trying to exit a public restroom (who wants a pleasant chat there?), and in the middle of the passing of the peace in church; please don't blatantly stop me and try to strike up a conversation about this.

I'm never thrilled when I get the inevitable "You look huge!!" comments.  These also seem to be followed by the inevitable "Are you going to make it?"  Well, I've no idea.  I will, however, gladly let you know when I've no longer "made it."

Ah, society.  You treat the preggos among us so bizarrely--we're fragile yet we're doing some amazing things that the strongest, most healthful individual may not be able to do.  We're doing good things, and there's no need to reduce us to being called "Mama" or "Mother."  Though we have an adorable little parasite attached to us, there's no need to reduce our individuality to this singular role among many that we are performing every day.  Unless you're a precocious little 2-year old, there's absolutely no need to ever replace my given name with a motherly nickname.  Though we mummies sometimes lose our individual personalities in the many blessings of the job, if YOU also erase my individuality, then where's the hope for us to remember?  Whereas I enjoy a break from my pregnant realities in my outside-the-house life, it seems to be difficult for others to let me have that mental relief.  I do enjoy my roundness, but there IS a time and a place for it.

And to wrap up this otherwise somber, dour and gripey post, Abby's latest funnies:
1.  She's very insistent in "pri-va-cee" when using the potty and brushing her teeth.  When did she turn into such a big girl?
2.  She politely gets my (and Ben's) attention, extends her hand and gladly states "Peace be wiff you!" during the passing of the peace during church.  And then sometimes, she does this for no apparent reason at home--like during lunch.
3.  (This one requires some background info.)  We drive separately to church because Ben is in the choir and has practice long before church actually starts.  Our Sunday School begins after the "coffee hour" break immediately following the service.  Abby gets her snack and heads off to a toddler class, and I usually take off to head home for a few minutes of quiet while Ben stays behind and waits for her (and chats it up with the old guys).  Ben's a bit of a softie, and lets her play a bit before coming home when the church is largely empty and a few stragglers are nursing the dregs of their coffee and their wives are trying to clean up.  Sometimes, they play on the baby grand "pianio" in the sanctuary with permission from our music director, who is one of Abby's favorite people at church.  Sometimes, they play the bongos if they're out.  Once in a while, Abby gets to run a few laps between the pews.  This past Sunday, Ben and Abby were finishing up their 5-minute giggle fest, and Abby took Ben up to the altar and pretended to give him the sacrament (our church does this every week, so she's been around it a lot).  But according to him, not only did she "know" what to do with it, but she also recited the lines with the bread and the wine ("Body of Christ, given for you!"  and "Blood of Christ, shed for you!").  Now that's a true blessing.  :-)