My morning latte run is the best part of my day. I’ve got way more energy than I do in the afternoon, Asher is happy (read: compliant), and friendly neighbors smile and wave as I walk by. Well, at least the one with Alzheimer’s does.
Since my grossly displaced internal organs feel like they’re trying to make a break for it through every orifice in my body, the six-block walk to Starbucks and back is about as far as I can get without dropping this pup on the sidewalk. But I need to feel normal, get moving, clear my head, so I trek out as often as I can. As I headed toward my destination one morning, it suddenly occurred to me that Hobbes was wrong: People are good!
Pregnancy Perk #2: Knights in Shining Armani
Why? Because as I wobble along my merry way, the crowd of pedestrians parts for us like the Red Sea. Pre-bump, the door was often slammed in my face, but now, people literally jump out of their seats to open it for me. In line at the coffee shop, men in suits offer to let me go first; when the place is busy, some people even suggest I take their table! It really is quite something, considering that Montrealers – in complete defiance of the Canadian stereotype – are about as polite as a colony of rabid bats. And yet, when I jaywalk these days, instead of seeing me as a speedbump, drivers slow down and patiently wait for me lumber across to safety, never honking, never cursing.
At home, it’s just as nice. Dan brings me pillows, makes late-night Dairy Queen runs, and lets me sleep in whenever possible. Okay... so he does all that even when I’m not carrying his 17-pound baby – bless him! – but when I’m pregnant he steps up his game. He opens the car door, defers to me on all matters air-conditioning, and tolerates my rude outbursts, sarcastic remarks and self-indulgent complaining with the patience of Job. It’s like my long-suffering sweetie wakes up every day and asks himself, "Do I want to be right, or do I want to be happy?"
I, in turn, try to do my part. I teeter a little harder, grunt and groan while sitting down or standing up, pat my belly with a knowing smile and generally make like Mother Earth herself.
Sure, women who’ve had kids know full well it’s possible to get along quite nicely on our own steam while pregnant, but few would disagree that it may also be the one time in our lives when it’s okay to be a bit less strong, a bit more in need of a knight in shining armor. And I think that guys are also glad to be able to feel extra useful and helpful, and show in some way their reverence for the, um, feminine mystique.
I like the idea. It’s kinda nice... even though Betty Friedan would probably burn me at the stake over a pile of flaming nursing bras for admitting it.
