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.”
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.