Yesterday was Haven's baby shower in Jordan's mother's courtyard at her nice Surburban, Northern Virginia home. The baby will make his arrival at the end of May. They have changed his name several different times due to hormones. He will now be called 'Luke'. The look on my Mother's face was utterly priceless when Haven announced his official name. (Becca, Mom and I will work with her on this) The name is repulsive! Grandma even laughed and said 'When can we expect Mark and John since you already have Mathew and Luke!" Haven in all her true beautiful glowing self, just laughed it off preceded by one of the infamous Warner Woman stares.
We were surrounded by beautiful spring tulips and Mountain laurel with waterfalls. We sipped on lemonade, Champagne and ice tea. We ate delicious cucumber sandwhiches and shrimp with tortellini kabobs. We played a bunch of lame games. I was holding Haven's hand as the Mother in law asked the dreaded lame game question: How much weight has Haven gained? Even my mother thought it was out of line. A Warner Woman's weight is a sensitive subject having grown up in Surburban McLean with mothers who want you to be healthy, Tall & thin, i.e. (I am neither) Becca thought it would be cute to answer 65 whopping pounds. However, she has gained 34 lbs at 34 weeks of pregnancy. Is that bad, Lisa? Drew? After we suffered through the lousy questions, I essentially won the Haven game. My gift was a crystal candy bowl and beautiful stationary. I love pretty paper!
After socializing in the hot sun with my grandmother's garden club friends, I had to give me annual State of My Uterus address. These women felt it was neccessary to quiz me on when I was going to get married and have babies. I realize this is a typical question for those of us past our college age years. Yet it astounds me how often I hear this familiar, cliched, if usually (sometimes?) well intentioned, refrain.
Having seen and heard from a number of you it would appear that many of us are fielding the same infernal question, whether you are (1) like me and mentally preparing/wishing for future children and the related concept of 18-24 years of not sleeping in ever, or (2) just not wanting any children of your own, at any point, Marisa is perfect enough or (3) very much wishing to have children but struggling to conceive them in the first place. In short, many of us lady-types happen to not be pregnant right this very second. We are also perhaps not eager to discuss that fact with, by means of completely random example, your sister's boss' ridiculous secretary.
We thirtysomethings need to get together and concoct some politely, snarky retort to all of these pushy questions that we've endured over the years.
Of course, all of these women know everything! Based on the comments I've heard lately from pregnant friends and Haven in particular, I understand that no small number of people are STILL, in this 21st century AD, offering any and all manner of unsolicited, uterus-bound advice, under that most sinister guise of "help".
You might be asking yourself - why is Amaya, who is not pregnant, who has never been pregnant, NOT that it is anyone else's business, taking on this monumental task? What relevant observation could such a person possibly have on a state she has never experienced? Um . . . good question.
Happily, I've never been one to let inexperience get in the way of my opinions. Plus, my pregnant sister and friends are a bit preoccupied at the moment with, you know, being pregnant. And - AND! - you won't find me giving them advice about their current state. Surprising, I know.
In truth, the point of this post is motivated by sincere anger and heartbreak on behalf of my dear Haven who has recently had the double burden of pregnancy worries and fielding your numerous and - might I emphasize - unsolicited offers of advice about the same. To that end, a couple of thoughts from this admitted interloper:
- On how a mother chooses to bring her child into the world: I have no doubt that, due to your carb-free, pesticide-free, shadow-free diet throughout your rigorously scheduled pregnancy, your own personal labor was nothing short of a Broadway musical of delights. Keebler Elves assuredly tap-danced from your ladybits in painless unison to usher your Organic Little Bundle of Joy into the world, while the sun shone from your every orifice and Zac Efron crooned softly in the background.
Here's the thing: although your own pregnancy was a veritable feast of High School Musical delights, reliable sources tell me that might not be the case for everyone. Yes, even if they do follow your highly-regimented advice to the letter. What's more, if the object of your rapturous advice has not been so fortunate as to have such a blissful pregnancy, odds are your storytelling, strewn with fairy dust as it might be, may only serve to make the mom-to-be feel guilty or worse.
- On suggesting that a pregnancy setback or tragedy is the result of divine will: Religion being a deeply personal matter, I won't touch it with a finely manicured finger here except to say this - religion is a deeply personal matter. While some might take comfort in this sort of advice, many - even the spiritual amongst us - might not. Assume the latter & tread carefully, please!
Friends, can't we just all share one big epidural cocktail* and get along - silently, supportively, and, unless specifically asked, without judgment of our pregnant friends?
*Or not, if you or your Life Birth Lamaze Career Coach are against that sort of thing. Gah.
