At Easter Dinner a few weeks ago I got the nicest compliment from a teenage cousin. "Your Facebook statuses about being pregnant aren't annoying. They're actually relevant and funny." She explained that most of the pregnant women she knows are teenagers who are maybe a little bit defensive about the situation, so they post things like "I'm growing a fucking baby today, biatch. What're you doing?"
I've read the STFUParentsBlog. I've heard Garfunkle and Oates sing Pregnant Women are Smug.
I try to keep my social media declarations of fertility to a minimum and ensure they're entertaining. But this is the most interesting thing I've done in a while. (It's been a slow year.) I often want to talk about it, and as we all know - when your social media statements get repetitive, it's time to get a blog.
So perhaps I was a little bit smug when I bragged that my belly bump finally got me a seat on the T. I know no one owes me a seat and that in this day and age, pregnancy is a conscious choice, and an arguably selfish one at that when one takes into account global overpopulation. But balance is getting a little more complicated than it used to be, and it was so awesome to get a seat, next to the door, during rush hour.
And I am guilty of one Garfunkle and Oates's sins. We do think we know what we're naming him - we know it's a him - but we're not telling until he gets here, because we might change our minds and don't want to deal with people saying they liked the old name better. Until he's here, we're calling him Fonzie.