The Wisdom of Waitresses

So I’m officially done leaving the house until I’m on my way to the place with the epidurals.

I can’t even take a walk around the block without getting stopped by someone who wants to talk about the weather balloon I’m smuggling under my shirt.  “When are you due?  Do you know what you’re having?  Is this your first one?”

Is this my first?  What kind of leading question is that?  FIRST?  People willingly do this more than once?!?  You’re not the boss of my uterus, complete stranger person.  How about you let me vault out this vagina vermin before we start discussing what other tortures I might subject this body to, mmmmk?


Poor Rocco, all drunk on this wonder of life bullshit, can’t get enough of it.  “Isn’t it just so beautiful that you have this instant bonding tool with women everywhere?  I mean, it’s like the great equalizer of women – a common ground you share.  They all want to talk to you about this magical thing.”

He’s awful lucky I can’t balance on one foot right now.

Yesterday, after having the same conversation with no less than 11 complete strangers, we crashed at the local diner for lunch.  After our waitress graciously delivered me another bowl of pickles, another waitress ambled up to the table, her eyes on my crumb-covered belly.  Captain Elbows kicked my repeatedly in the ribs.  I kicked Rocco under the table.

“Do you know what you’re having?” she cooed.

I sighed.  “A complete asshole as far as I can tell.”

*blink, blink*

I internally reprimanded myself and tried again.  “A boy?”

Her face lit up.  “Oh honey, that’s basically the same thing.”

THAT conversation was totally worth it.


  1. That was completely awesome.

    I’ve found that when I was in Colorado for a few weeks on vacation everyone wanted to talk about the giant belly bump. Now that I’m back in NYC though, it’s like it doesn’t exist except as something for people to run into on the subway. Not a single mention since I’ve been back. It actually feels really weird. It’s like this elephant in the room that for some reason people feel like they can’t talk about. I get a ton more comments about my dogs than the baby.

  2. I love that waitress. Are people trying to touch you yet? Anyone asking about whether you’re going boob or bottle? These are perfect opportunities to make comments to those people about when THEY are due (even if you know they aren’t pregnant).

    It’s also fun to add things like, “Well I started the prenatal vitamins and grew a third nipple so I think I’m going to sublet.”

  3. When people ask you if it’s your first just show them your vagina and that will effectively end that line of questioning.
    I can still pull this one off because I’m a three time c-section veteran and that things as tightly wound as it was in Catholic school ( high school you perv)

  4. I’m having a hard time not asking my very good friend Glamizon (who’s being induced on Oct. 3rd) how she’s feeling every day. I’m pretty sure if I ask her again this morning she’s going to disembowel me with a staple remover.

    Hang in there Paul Pod. Hang in there.

  5. Sometimes I want to write a book called my kids are assholes. Well, they sometimes totally deserve it!!! I love that waitress. Let’s have a weekly Dear Waitress column w her!

  6. I know this isn’t about me (it isn’t, right?) but I want to see this Captain Elbows, so, let’s get a move on! Nipple stimulation! Brisk walking! I’ve even heard you should eat eggplant parm (but maybe only at a specific restaurant in an Atlanta suburb, details, details).

    Let’s get laboring. You’ll make it. It will be okay. It’s all Kool and the Gang. And, yes, it will have painful uncomfortable bits, but, really, it will be okay. I swear. To the God of Vaginas I swear it will be great—most of the time.

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