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Actual conversation that I had last week:

Random Old Guy: “So, you gonna pop any day now?”

Me: “No; I’m due in December.”

Random Old Guy: “When?!”

Me: “December.”

Random Old Guy: “Nope; no way you’re gonna make it. You look like you’ve got triplets in there.”


Dear People of the World:

Stop. Just stop.

Stop assuming that you are the ultimate expert on what a woman’s body should or should not look like when she is pregnant. Because every time you open your ignorant mouths, you end up sticking your foot into them.

Just because I’m rocking a baby bump does not mean that you need to comment on it. In fact, it doesn’t even mean that you need to talk to me at all. You could just smile and continue on with your life and allow me to continue with mine. But if you insist on engaging in conversation with me, then I must insist that you use some basic manners. Since there is such a large percentage of you who don’t have basic manners however, allow me to finally give you this important life lesson.

Here are some tips on how to talk to a pregnant woman:

Tip #1: Do not start the conversation by asking if I am “ready to pop”

Even if my due date is tomorrow, I will still want to punch you in the face. “Ready to pop” implies that I’m some fucking popcorn bag that you’re watching expand inside a microwave. I am not some greasy bag of oil and corn kernels, the baby making process takes a hell of a lot more work than punching in 3 minutes on a microwave, and the birth experience does not cause my vagina to explode, thank sweet baby Jesus.

But if my due date is still 3 months away, you’re going to look like an ass for assuming that you’re going to have to catch my baby any minute because by your experienced eye it’s probably halfway out of my vagina.

Please, just stop.

Tip #2: Do not try to guess my due date

This puts you in the same precarious situation as above. If you try to guess my due date, 99.9% of the time, you will think that I am 3 months farther along than I actually am. This will then translate to me that you–expert of all maternity matters–think that I am overweight based on my actual gestation.

I know my gorgeous baby face makes you think that I’m pregnant with my first baby, but this is actually my 4th pregnancy. There’s this mysterious (to you, not me) thing called ‘muscle memory’. See, since this is my 4th go around in the making-a-human-life rodeo, my uterus went, “Ok, here we go again! I know what happens next.” Then it pops out earlier than the first, second, and third times, because it’s anticipating the growth that is soon to come. So I know that you don’t think that I should have popped out at 9 weeks, but my uterus knows more than you.

Please also do not make matters worse by following up your wrong guess with a, “Nope; no way you’re going to make it”. I may not know you, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a fucking doctor. Certainly, you are not my doctor, thank sweet baby Jesus.

Oh, and by the way, I’ve been having complications through my whole pregnancy and have been terrified of going into preterm labor.

Please, just stop.

Tip #3: Do not try to cover your rudeness up with, “You sure it’s not twins?”

You essentially just called me fat by over estimating my gestational age, and you think it’s a good idea to follow that up by asking if I’m sure it’s not twins? Really? Your chuckle implied that you thought this remark was quite clever, but it was not clever. In fact, you are not the first genius to think of it. It’s rude AF because you are still implying that you think I’m fat TO MY PREGNANT FACE because obviously the only explanation for my “extra large” bump is that there’s actually 2 babies in there.

Or 3, as the lovely gentlemen that I encountered last week assumed.

Please, just stop.

Tip #4: Do not feel obligated to inform me how full my hands will be

I know that hearing how I am on baby #4 is a shock to you, but it’s not to me. I’ve actually been very well aware of how busy I have been for the last 6 years caring for my crew of minions, because I, you know, lived through it. One might even be so bold as to say that I am still living through it. Since I have now cared for 3 newborns, I know how much work I’m in for in December when I have my next one.

Thanks for letting your eyes go wide as saucers as you very loudly thought in your head, “Poor girl”.

P.S. Don’t feel sorry for me. I love my life and my kids are fucking amazing.

Please, just stop.

Tip #5: Do not ask me if this is going to be my last one

This might come off as rude, but, I don’t fucking know you. My family planning is between my husband and I. Sorry if I don’t want to discuss my sex life with you in the middle of the soup aisle, random person I hope to never meet again. That’s nice that you are quite happy with your choice to have 2 kids; honestly, it is. But this isn’t China, so there is no mandate on how many kids any of us can have. My husband and I made a different choice than you. It doesn’t make you right or me right. It just makes us different.

And yes, I know my one year old is standing up in the cart, and no, I’m not worried about her falling out because she does that shit all the time, proving that she has balancing skills that rival Simone Biles.

Please, just stop.


So, lovely human beings that I am forced to encounter whenever I leave my house, please just STOP. If you want to congratulate me on expecting another bundle of joy, then I welcome that. But if it’s going to come laced with judgments because you think that  have gained too much weight while growing and sustaining another life, then you can keep that shit to yourself. It’s not easy to watch my body expand and change so drastically on me, but I chose to allow it to happen anyways because my kids are worth it. Every woman’s body is different. We all carry differently. There is no such thing as a “right” amount of weight to gain. I have gained different amounts of weight in all 4 of my pregnancies, because each one of my babies are different people. Shocking, I know.

You are not entitled to have an opinion on my body.

So please, JUST STOP.


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