Pregnancy and social mores

“I see pregnant women,” I told my girl friend. Young, twenty somethings, bellies full, ankles swollen and bladders working over time. They walk to and from the rest room, by my office, sometimes their skin is sullen and other times a pinkish glow. Recently, I counted six co-workers gimping along ready to burst forth their little bean out of the watery warm womb of blood, protein and that alien-like viscous birth fluid. I think about the baby’s world, floating on their placenta Lazy Boy, remote in hand. Every day is Sunday football…I can remember it well. Maybe all baby’s know what that familiar banging sound they hear when mommy and daddy are getting busy? Maybe their hearts race a little fast too when mommy is upset because daddy doesn’t want mommy to breast feed their son?

These women are in their prime birth years. Their careers are on a path, they’ve met "the man of their dreams" and now they are ready. At this age they are really just baby machines: progenitors of the next generation out of some biological selfish drive, burdening society with their off spring, some of which will maim and others which will do good. When couples copulate, they don’t think about it. This world of ignorant ideologues, barbaric practices and arrogant war mongers. But…children are beautiful, even little Adolf Schicklgruber was cute. His mom loved him too.

Never ask women if they’re pregnant.

Some recently gained a lot of weight. Others, whose pregnant bellies protruding forth, may elect not to keep it or carry with them, a familial history of false, as in “oops,” starts or rotten genetic finishes. Jesus. The formalities we carry out just to keep the outer appearances propped up and alive.

A while ago I noticed a co-worker’s sparse collection of manicured and pedicured carrot and celery sticks had multiplied, along with her weight. In breaking a social more, I asked:

“Are you pregnant?” Instead, of an answer, I got a blank, stoic stare. And later, in falsetto like indignation, I overheard her telling her co-workers of my social faux pas.

“I can’t believe he asked me that!” she said incredulously, rubbing her stomach.

“He’s so insensitive,” another quipped.

“Did you pick out a name yet?” the third chirped in.

About two and a half months later, she finally told everyone. We all feigned surprise! “Really, you’re pregnant? Wow,” they said in a high pitched voice with a wide-open mouth and expression-filled eyes. Except me, I sat darkly in my corner cubicle, because, (in one of those big, polished radio announcer voices): I am the EVIL ONE.

After she left to delivery her healthy daughter from the warm clutches of the baby remote and placenta lazy boy, I covered her desk. She was breast feeding and eating carrot sticks while I did the work of two people. And, did the kid thank me? No. Did my co-worker forgive me for my awkward question? No, probably not. Now…How are we supposed to ignore the “elephant in the room?”

In case you have a pregnant co-worker or someone you know has some sort of physical ailment that you can’t talk about, you can practice this politically correct moment when they reveal to everyone, when it’s safe and okay to do so, their very obvious condition:

Step One. Please feign surprise. It helps to say “really.”

Step Two. Use a high pitched voice, with a wide-open mouth and eyes filled with wonder and amazement when receiving the news, and lastly;

Step three: Say: “This blog piece is over?”