You’re warned about well-meaning “experts” who want to offer all manner of advice (and physical contact) when you get pregnant. While I have not yet crossed the finish-line of this pregnancy, even I recognize that all of us are different, and I truly believe women who have had multiple children when they say that each pregnancy is different. That being said, it seems that not all women are as cognizant of that fact. And indeed, it is women that seem to be the worst offenders when it comes to this sort of thing. You almost expect stupid things to come out of the mouths of men (and I don’t excuse them all – believe me……I’ve had a few real gems come at me out of masculine pie holes), but you almost expect more/better from women. Sisterhood, camaraderie, all that jazz.
It only seems to get worse the larger and more obviously knocked up I become. I am now regularly stopped by acquaintances who want to tell me what I’m doing right/wrong, or what I should be doing. Often, these are women who have faced “the change” 15-20 years ago, and seem unaware of the huge advances in medicine that have come about since they had their own children. I have been encouraged to “just ask my doctor, so that ‘he (no recognition that a DOCTOR could bear a feminine pronoun)’ could tell me they’re right.” When they follow up (and they always do), they seem downright offended that the doctor doesn’t agree with whatever crackpot advice they were selling, and immediately set about grilling me about my doctor: qualifications, whether or not “he” has children of “his” own, etc….
I have been chastised for using stairs, despite the fact that my office is only on the 3rd floor (Note: This came from the same odd, unpleasant woman who once attempted to publicly fuss at me for not wearing steel-toed boots to a safety meeting in the office in a large conference room. Those conference rooms certainly do pose a whole lot of toe hazards!!). This was followed up with a story about how her daughter went spontaneously into early labor by walking down a flight of stairs. I’ve been told my feet will never be the same again. I’ve been told I’m eating too much. I’ve been told what to eat. I’ve been told it’s ok to have a drink or two along the way. I’ve been told a drink will most certainly result in FAS. I’ve been told I’m not eating enough. I’ve been advised to do all sorts of crazy things to my nipples to prepare them for breast-feeding.
I figure this will only continue and even worsen in the next 7-8 weeks, particularly if my little girl stays head-up as she is now. I will no doubt hear every c-section horror story since Julius himself joined the ranks of the living. I suppose I should simply take solace in the fact that there’s only roughly 7 more weeks to go.