Pregnant Commuters
Monday, May 19th, 2008When I first started commuting, I would offer my seat to any woman I thought could possibly be pregnant. I’ve never been pregnant myself but my girlfriends tell me that this offer, while not always taken due to the difficulty of sitting and standing, is appreciated.
Now, I wait for the universal pregnant sign, the caressing of the belly. That circular rub all pregnant women do even at 4 weeks.
Why?
A few years ago, I was sitting in a crowded subway car. A woman comes on, her tight fitting shirt hugging a body that, I felt, could very well give birth at any moment. I’ve seen a lot of pregnant women and there is no doubt in my mind that this lady was.
I scramble to my feet. “Miss, miss, would you like my seat?”
“Why?” Hands on hips, eyes in her thin face flashing. “Are you getting off?”
Mood swings. That comes with the territory. As long as she doesn’t start crying on me. “No. I thought you’d like a seat.”
“Why me? Why not her?” She motions towards the supermodel thin pole hugger beside her. “Or her?” That woman looks up, meets our gaze, and then quickly looks away again.
“Ummm…” I glance down at her protruding belly. Do I really have to say?
“Oooo…” Her mouth rounds into a circle, eyes widening. “You think I’m pregnant, don’t you?” Of course I do. Her belly is stretched out like a balloon.
“Well, I’m not pregnant. I’m fat and I don’t appreciate you bringing it to everyone’s attention.” It is brought to everyone’s attention because she’s bellowing this at the top of her lungs. I shrink down in my seat, thinking of how to get out of this.
Light bulb moment.
“I didn’t think you were pregnant, miss.” Surprised I didn’t get struck by lightning for this, I continue. “I thought you looked sleepy and would like the seat. I’m guessing you don’t want it.”
“Hhrumpth.” Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t have a reply to that.
So after that, I don’t care if I can see the baby, the lady’s not getting a seat without the belly rub.