Embracing The Pregnancy Inquisition


Some pregnant women complain about being asked the same questions over and over again. Not me! I loved answering questions about my impending motherhood, the same way I loved fielding inquiries about my childhood eczema, or my prolonged single status in my 20’s. Instead of treating these questions as derivative small talk, I see them as a means to educate the world about what’s really happening in our wombs.

Q: Why did you wait 3 months until announcing your pregnancy?

A: It is customary for a woman to wait 3 months so she can enjoy an occasional beer at a barbecue without being shamed.

Q: Do you care what the gender the baby is?

A: No, as long as it’s healthy.  And also a girl.

Q: What is your birth plan?

A: Why, yes, I do plan on giving birth. Hopefully soon. And preferably to the tune of Phil Collin’s “Sussudio.”

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Q: Do you know what you’re having?

A: The alien overlord that implanted this baby in me swears it’s a girl!

Q: Do you plan on working until you have the baby?

A: My boss is really nice and is allowing my doula to share my cubicle these last few weeks, so I can continue to work on the McCampbell account until my cervix dilates 7 inches.

Q: Are you scared/nervous/excited?

A: Mostly, I’m scared that I’m nervous about my excitement, and also excited that my fear is making me nervous.

Q: Are you having a baby shower?

A: Wait. You didn’t get the invitation yet? What’s your address again? Oh, my bad, I wrote “18 Sycamore,” not “8 Sycamore.” That must be why.

Q: Are you due soon? You look ready to pop.

A: If by “soon,” you mean “still have four more months to go,” then yes. Sigh.

Q: Do you have any cravings?

A: Since becoming pregnant, I’ve had a yen for Swiss chard, funyions, and salsa lessons. Also, I can’t go to bed without my nightly jello shot, and love to chew on discarded animal carcasses.

Q: Do you need any baby stuff? If so, we have a lot of things we can pass on.

A: Awesome! I’m super-excited for you to unload a moving van full of stained, torn, sticky clothes and toys into my already-cramped apartment.  My newborn can’t wait to test out your decade-old car seat with the vomit crust in the buckles. You’re the best.

Q: Do you have a name picked out?

A: That is classified information, in the off-chance our name pick coincides with your grandma’s name, your middle school frenemy, or the stripper from the gentleman’s club in the mall.

Q: Do you plan on having more children after this one?

A: I don’t plan on stopping until I’ve populated a small village, or secured my own reality show. Possibly both.

Q: Ha ha, are you having twins?

A: Good guess, friend. In fact, I’m expecting sextuplets. The alien overlords believe in fruitful multiplying.

Q: Can I touch your stomach?

A: Sure, touch away! Think of my baby bump like your own personal, prenatal Magic 8 ball.

Q: Um, okay. I feel like you’re being sarcastic.

A: “My sources say yes.”

Q: Having a baby won’t change anything, right? We’ll still hang out all the time?

A: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the whirring of my breast pump. Sure, we can still hang. Do you mind if we meet up on the left side of my couch? I plan on spending a lot of time there over the next year. I’m free between the hours of 4am and 6:12am.

Q: Are you ready?

A: If by “ready” you mean “mind-numbingly terrified and curled up in a ball of overflowing anxiety, stress, and neuroses until I can barely move from fear that I’ve already messed this up,” then yes. Totally ready.

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