I am a fan of any good story. As someone who has always listed reading as one of my top three hobbies, I really enjoy a well-told, well-placed story; fact or fiction, personal or general. BUT, as I have previously mentioned, pregnancy seems to invite those whose social intelligence has never formed or has been stripped away, which inevitably leads to a story that is not well-told nor well-placed, and is, quite unfortunately, personal in the worst way. After one of these assaults on her day, the poor pregnant woman is left hanging on to her scruples by a thin thread after having been lambasted by a cascade of unsolicited personal information supplied by the story teller, who is often a complete or nearly complete stranger. And lest I fail to mention the crux of many of these personal anecdotes, they often center on a
physical experience. Allow me to share some of the "best" ones…oh how I wish I could award prizes to these people, but I don't really want to encourage the behavior.
Get ready. If at any time, you need to take a break and go rip out your eyeballs, that's okay; I understand.
Ahem.
From one of the moms of my kiddo-clients:
"I thought pregnancy was WONDERFUL. (Eyes roll back in her head) All my senses were heightened SO MUCH (uh-oh). I loved food--couldn't get enough! And I was SO horny! Wow! (long pause) …Anyway, really, I just loved being pregnant! I hope you're enjoying yourself, too."
From a new friend:
"Just make sure you're wearing close-toed shoes in the delivery room…yeah, that was gross."
From a co-worker:
"I was so huge at the end it was unbelievable. I had this weird tumor on one side of my abdomen (rule of thumb: just don't tell people about your weird tumors unless you're SURE they want to know), the baby was on the other side, and I was so BLOATED I literally got stuck on the couch one day and couldn't get out of it."
From the random lady at the post office (this one gets first prize in my book):
Let me preface this scene: I was buying some stamps, and since it had been a bit warm lately, my fingers were a bit too water-logged to fit my wedding ring that day, so I was wearing it around my neck. The postal worker noticed and proceeded thusly…
"Oh honey, are your fingers swollen?" (Red flags are shooting up everywhere--this conversation needs to get shut down!)
"Oh, just a little bit," I responded in an uninterested fashion. I'm hoping my lack of eye contact will send her in a socially appropriate direction.
"Well, when I was pregnant (oh crap, here we go…), EVERYTHING was swollen!"
"Hm," I said, rummaging through my purse, still avoiding eye contact, making signs to leave.
"Even," and here she leans in, lowering her voice to a loud, conspiratorial whisper, "Even my vagina!"
At this point, I said something vaguely polite and about-faced, leaving that wretched woman's presence as quickly as I could. I knew that it was futile to try and rip off my ears because the story had been seared immediately into my long-term memory, and the only way to be relieved from the experience would be to have a brain transplant. So now, I'm just sharing the story with everyone. It's therapy, really.
So what is the lesson in all of this? I'm sure you will glean some personal lessons of your own, but if I may impose these thoughts on you:
1. Don't assume that everyone wants to hear your story. Choose your audience WISELY.
2. Unless you already know you are in a safe place, avoid stories that involve bodily functions.
3. Use your story to build someone up, which does not usually mean telling your own worst experience to help that person feel better.
And those stories and more have been part of the humorous and unforgettable side of this pregnancy, certainly leaving an indelible mark on my life story.
