A Mommy Story

It was a good Saturday, overall. Cordy was with grandma, and Aaron, Mira, and I went west to Indianapolis to spend the day at GenCon. I think we’ve established that Aaron and I are geeks, so this should come as no surprise.

There were only two bad events all day today. The drive home was miserable, thanks to construction on Interstate 70. If you don’t live anywhere near I-70, let me explain: you can never travel on I-70 without at least one traffic jam, due to construction, accident, or just something shiny on the side of the road that everyone must stop and look at.

Today, two miles of construction took 45 minutes. And Mira, who doesn’t mind being in the car as long as it’s moving, did not appreciate the slow crawl during that time. The fussing and crying nearly made me turn the car around and set up a new home in Indy instead of facing that traffic. Sure, I’d miss Cordy, but maybe we could see her again someday when they started construction on the other side of I-70?

The other bad moment ruined my high for the day at the convention. I was dressed in an entire outfit of non-maternity clothes, had shaved my legs, brushed my hair, and thought I looked pretty damn good. Aaron was carrying Mira in the baby sling, which always gets a lot of attention (women love a man wearing a baby), leaving me baby-free and feeling non-mom-like. And then the following happened while visiting a friend’s sales booth:

(20-something woman dressed as an Elf walks up to us)

Woman: Awww…she’s cute.

Aaron: Thanks.

Woman: (gesturing to sling) That’s a great idea. She looks so comfortable!

Aaron: Yeah, they’re wonderful…(starts talking about pros of babywearing – I admit I wasn’t fully paying attention at this point)…It’s really a great way to get around and keep the baby happy.

Woman: (turning to me, and I swear she said this) And it looks like you’ve got another on the way?

At this point, I should also tell you that when she said this, she actually began to reach out to touch my belly! Seriously! Thank her little elven Gods that she didn’t complete her impulsive action or I might’ve gone all Orc on her.

Me: (totally aghast) No, I’m not pregnant, I’m postpartum.

Woman: (who doesn’t seem to realize the social faux pas she’s committed) Oh. Well, she’s cute! (walks away, elven cape flapping behind her)

WTF? Maybe an Elf has a shorter pregnancy, but I don’t see how I could be pregnant and showing when I have a baby who clearly looks like a 12 week old. I spent the remainder of the day sucking in my belly and plotting a trip to Macy’s to lock my mid-section into some kind of support garment for the rest of my life. Maybe corsets could come back in style?

And so I offer this small public service announcement: unless a woman tells you directly that she’s pregnant, or you see a baby’s head crowning, NEVER ASSUME SHE’S PREGNANT. Sorry, don’t mean to shout, but this obviously doesn’t get through to some people. Save yourself and the poor other woman some embarrassment and leave any and all topics of reproductive status alone. (Oh, and don’t touch other people’s bellies without permission, too. You might just lose that hand, especially if the woman isn’t pregnant.)