A Penny For Your Thoughts

I have wondered, on more than one occasion, whether I might have a sign on my forehead that says something like, "Tell me what you're thinking, please. I really want to know." It started back in February of 2001, on a trip to Disneyworld with Ted. I was about 4.5 months pregnant (with Jack) at the time. I was in that awkward stage of pregnancy - too big to fit in regular clothes, but not big enough yet to need maternity clothes. While waiting in line for a ride, a man standing behind us with his children asked me when I was due. Ted was shocked. He didn't even think I looked pregnant yet. And he was sure that I didn't look obviously pregnant enough for a stranger to comment on it. But, it happened, just like that. And it hasn't stopped since.

Somehow, pregnancy seems to call attention to people. It makes them stand out in a crowd. I know I'm not alone feeling that way. So, I guess it's not surprising that this whole phenomenon started during my first pregnancy. Back then, the most frequent question or comment I heard was in regards to my due date, or how pregnant I was at the time. The second most common question was about the baby's sex. Once Jack was born, everyone wanted to know how old he was. Normal stuff, I know. But, by my third pregnancy, strangers' comments started to venture into the realm of curious, strange, and downright inappropriate.

Jack and Elliot were usually with me when I was out and about during that pregnancy. Even more than before, it seemed like everyone wanted to know whether I was expecting a boy or a girl that time around. I guess, for many people, when they see a pregnant woman with two sons, the first thing that comes to their mind is, "she must be trying for a girl." Would it be too strange - or at least too boring - if I just liked kids, enjoyed being a mother, and wanted to have another another baby? If I answered the boy/girl question, I set myself up to receive their judgment. Should I be happy to be having another boy? Would it be just as well, after all I already had all the boy stuff I'd need? Or, should I not feel badly, as it wasn't my fault. Given that, from about 18 weeks on I knew I was having a third boy, I didn't appreciate those comments very much.

I always related these stranger encounters to Ted. He found them much more humorous (and less invasive) than I ever did. I think he also suspected me of mild (in the spirit of good story telling) exaggeration. Then, one day, he had the luck to be with me for one of my strangest ones. We were out walking without the kids, and a truck drove by with the windows all rolled down and three young guys inside. I was about 7 months pregnant with Mattie at the time. They raced noisily by us, but not before they could yell "Let that baby out for God's sake," out the window. After that, Ted never questioned the veracity of my stories again.

Even now, not pregnant, I can't seem to avoid eliciting people's comments. My favorite, and most frequently asked question these days is, "are they all yours?" It's not like I have a dozen! Most of the time, these strangers are very well meaning. When I tell them that all four boys are in fact mine, they pay me a compliment. Today alone I was called both a hero and a saint (at Target, in the toy section, where all four boys were making a lot of noise, but behaving remarkably well.) Most people are polite enough to say nothing if their thoughts tend more towards criticism. I do get a fair amount of dirty looks though.

I find that I've mellowed out quite a bit over the years. People's comments don't get to me much anymore. I know how I feel about the demographics of my family, and I truly enjoy most of the time I spend with the boys. I enjoy their exuberance, their excitement, and the joy they find in most things. I feel younger and more exuberant myself when I'm with them. I know someday I'll wander the aisles of Target alone again; I'll go back to the old unobtrusive me. And I know that these years will "go by like that." I know because you've all told me so.