Two minor jolts of reality
1) Yesterday, I went for a walk by myself and gradually came to feel that something very, very strange and different was in the air. What was it? I pondered. It slowly dawned on me that no one beamed at me; no one made puppy dog eyes at me; no one slowed down in the crosswalk so as not to mow me down with their SUV. Yes, the aggressive, reckless San Francisco drivers now plowed straight at me in the crosswalk, just as I dimly remembered they used to do in days of yore. Of course! My slow brain thought. I am neither visibly pregnant nor wielding a small, cute baby. I'll bet they won't let me cut ahead of them in line for the bathroom now, either.
No; I was just like any other frumpy, unshowered, no longer perkily young woman, wearing baggy pants and a schlumpfy flannel shirt pilfered from her husband, hair untidily thrown up in a bun, dark circles under her eyes. Not only did people not make puppy dog eyes at me, but they occasionally looked at me distastefully. Where was that cute baby to distract them from my personal appearance?
2) Two days ago I was waiting to take the bus by myself for the first time since my last trimester. A jam-packed 1 California finally arrived. It's okay, thought the brain; at least *I* will get a seat. *I* can sit in the front seats reserved for the elderly and disabled. ...Oh wait, no I cannot, the brain then realized, as I climbed on the bus and it dawned on me that I was not packing an enormous stomach anymore. I used to have to sit down, or I would not be able to keep on my feet when the bus lurched and jerked to an abrupt stop, as it perpetually did. My whiny brain thought self-pityingly of my invisible-to-the-naked-eye, fairly-recent C-section as I clung to the strap-thingies above me, wedged in next to 50 other standing people. I almost fell down several times.
How things have changed! The other night I went to the corner store in my pajamas, thinking in some way that it was acceptable (again, more acceptable when actually wielding a cute baby; I was not). Once in the store, a little Korean girl, the daughter of the woman working there, began laughing and pointing at me and saying things I didn't understand. Her mother, also laughing, finally translated: "She wants to know, what is this costume you are wearing?"
"My pajamas," I said sourly, before stalking home without buying my favorite, Skittles gum.
I guess the moral of the story is: don't go out in your pajamas, or the next best thing, unless you are wielding a puppy, a baby, or a pregnant belly.
Also, you probably shouldn't eat Skittles gum. It is extremely sweet and bad for the teeth, with absolutely no nutritional value.
No; I was just like any other frumpy, unshowered, no longer perkily young woman, wearing baggy pants and a schlumpfy flannel shirt pilfered from her husband, hair untidily thrown up in a bun, dark circles under her eyes. Not only did people not make puppy dog eyes at me, but they occasionally looked at me distastefully. Where was that cute baby to distract them from my personal appearance?
2) Two days ago I was waiting to take the bus by myself for the first time since my last trimester. A jam-packed 1 California finally arrived. It's okay, thought the brain; at least *I* will get a seat. *I* can sit in the front seats reserved for the elderly and disabled. ...Oh wait, no I cannot, the brain then realized, as I climbed on the bus and it dawned on me that I was not packing an enormous stomach anymore. I used to have to sit down, or I would not be able to keep on my feet when the bus lurched and jerked to an abrupt stop, as it perpetually did. My whiny brain thought self-pityingly of my invisible-to-the-naked-eye, fairly-recent C-section as I clung to the strap-thingies above me, wedged in next to 50 other standing people. I almost fell down several times.
How things have changed! The other night I went to the corner store in my pajamas, thinking in some way that it was acceptable (again, more acceptable when actually wielding a cute baby; I was not). Once in the store, a little Korean girl, the daughter of the woman working there, began laughing and pointing at me and saying things I didn't understand. Her mother, also laughing, finally translated: "She wants to know, what is this costume you are wearing?"
"My pajamas," I said sourly, before stalking home without buying my favorite, Skittles gum.
I guess the moral of the story is: don't go out in your pajamas, or the next best thing, unless you are wielding a puppy, a baby, or a pregnant belly.
Also, you probably shouldn't eat Skittles gum. It is extremely sweet and bad for the teeth, with absolutely no nutritional value.
posted by Sarah Goss at 11:56 AM
7 Comments:
Heh -- it does seem unfair that all the slack people cut you when you're pregnant, gets taken back up again when the baby's actually here. (I won't even go into how it is a few years later when you've got three screaming hellions out in public.)
I guess this is why a lot of stores are starting to put up signs: "This parking space reserved for families with children." It's a little gesture, but you gotta start somewhere.
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If it makes you feel any better, the teenage girls I work with regularly come to school in PJ bottoms and slippers, carrying a pillow or blankie. The administration has had to make rules specifically forbidding this. So you're just being fashion-forward and dressing young.
Oh, yeah...in college, I used to wear pajamas to class. And slippers. Pointy little elf slippers with bells on the toes. Remember, Melissa? :-) My friends Melissa and Adrianne and I had *matching* elf slippers that we wore to class. We thought we were so iconoclastic!
I don't remember the pajamas part--but our dorms were less than 300 feet from our classes, so who could really blame us :-). I DO remember the house shoes...I wish I could blame Adrianne, but I think I was real enthusiastic about them. The bells fell off and they became quite ucky from the outside elements, and then they disappeared after I graduated. I wish I could wear pajamas to school now...!!! :-)
Um--my dear--never go out in your pajamas.
Or--wear clothes as pajamas. That might work.
You are so right. Unfortunately, I was doomed to learn the hard way.
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