No, you may not touch me. Yes, I’m pregnant. That doesn’t negate me need for personal space. You don’t ask a stacked woman if you can grope her tits. You don’t ask a man with a prominent package if you can feel his crotch. Keep your hands to yourself, and don’t expect a polite response from a tired, gravid woman.
I’ll bet cash-money that two years from now, when I’m in this store with an uncooperative tot, your rose-colored glasses for parenthood will be somewhere else.
Dear Cord-Blood Bank Company:
Eat shit and die. I’ve worked in pediatric leukemia research for three years, and immunology research for two. I’m the *last * person on the fucking planet you want reading your ads – and that’s what these “information packets” are, advertisements. The slick rags you send me are heavy on the fear mongering and light on science. You’re preying on the anxieties of parents and making money off of it.
Dear “Mommy War” bitches:
I avoid your books and the magazines that carry your articles, but your poisonous ideals lurk in unsettling places – family, friends and random strangers. The Good Housekeeping life of clean, tastefully decorated homes, constantly happy children and beautiful desserts is about as attainable by me as the clothing and physiques that are on display in Cosmo. Get real, and shut the fuck up!
Word. I wish I could tell you it gets better, but it won’t. Once you have a baby in arms, they’ll all feel entitled to touch the baby and offer you all kinds of “advice” and judgement about everything you do - including letting people touch your baby. As they’re touching him/her.
(Who was the Doper Dad who snapped one day buying formula when some Nosy Nancy took him to task for not breastfeeding instead? IIRC, he told her he couldn’t make milk and his wife was dead, thanks for asking. (She’s not dead, but what a great horrible line!))
And, Liberal, you’re a sick sick man.
As annoying as the belly-groping is, it gets worse when strangers touch the baby.
Without asking.
My little one (8 1/2 months) has an absolutely ear-piercing shriek and I keep hoping she’ll do it after some random stranger kisses her on the face. No such luck so far. I think she’s just as stunned as I am that someone would do that.
When are you due again, Mouse_Maven? I’ve noticed it’s been somewhere around the beginning eighth month that most of my friends start to get to the point of homicidal rage if ONE MORE GODDAM PERSON touches them without permission. Me, personally, I’d be breaking fingers from the beginning.
It’s polite to ask first, but we’re really not talking about polite. Next time someone touches you without asking, touch her back. Tit, stomach, face, whatever. Open hand or closed fist is up to you.
The due date is the end of September. I’ve never been comfortable with casual contact, so being obviously pregnant has aggrivated an old quirk.
I’m surrounded by a lot of over-achievers who are my age (30) and think that I’m to young to be a mother and are shocked that I’m not worrying about pre-schools, college, <insert second language> classes, etc., etc. Right now, I have swollen feet, hemorrhoids, bladder incontinence (a recent development I’m just fucking thrilled with :rolleyes: ), and calf cramps in the middle of the night. Fuck pre-school. I’m tempted to give the pup up for adoption, get my tubes tied and run far, far away from parenthood.
And five years from now they will be in the depths of despair, struggling with the possibility of infertility while you will be enjoying your wonderful little one. Sorry to say, you’ll still be worried about preschools, college, second language classes and everything else.
For the lady who pats your belly: pat her belly right back. Hopefully in the future she’ll take the hint.
And for the baby-grabbers, you’ll soon develop a reflex that will enable you to swing the Mouseling being carried in your arms or on your hip tactfully out of the way as soon as you detect a “Squeee!” baby-toucher on your perimeter. You can even physically intercept the reaching hand and grab it firmly yourself, smiling politely all the while and keeping up a brisk chatter. I found that a generic, cooing, “Thank you so much, you’re SO kind” worked well to cover up the recipient’s baffled look while she belatedly registered the fact that I had just grabbed and was firmly deflecting her arm.
I can’t help you with the rest of it, but I can help you with the calf cramps.
A woman at church taught me this. She was preg the year before I was: “Never stretch in bed.”
When you wake up in the morning, and you give a long luxurious stretch, you unconsciously point your toes down, and that convulses the already twitchy calf muscles. So when you stretch in bed, consciously make an effort to point your toes up. It helps.
Also, up the calcium, potassium, and magnesium, which are the ions needed for muscle function, and lack of which causes cramps. Taking calcium pills doesn’t always work, because your body doesn’t absorb big chunks of calcium well. Ingest more dairy products, and for potassium, it’s orange juice, bananas, or Low-Sodium V8. Magnesium is found in nuts.
The closer I get to The Due Date, the more emotional and irritated I get. Yesterday, I burned a pie and blawed my eyes out about it. The news makes me cry, the weather makes me cry. If I think to much about all of the pressures of parenthood, from breast vs. formula to college, nothing will get accomplished.
Rationally, I know that humans have been reproducing for very long time, and the odds are in my favor to have a healthy, reasonably well-adjusted kid. The rational bit of me is drowned out by a lot of mommy-static.
Oh geeze. If I were preggers (and that ain’t gonna happen) and someone touched my belly, I’d beat them senseless.
I have a friend in Germany who had her first child about 8 mos ago and said that some twit at the grocery store walked up and touched her stomach without saying hello or whatever. Gia shoved the guy halfway thru the produce department and said if he even thought about touching her again she’d shove a pineapple up his ass. Sideways.
