I didn't blog about this the first time it happened, but since this weekend was the second time, I think I'm now pissed off enough to do a post on it. I've now been mistaken for being pregnant twice this month.
Let me preface this by saying I have gained a little weight over the past year or two, but at 143 lbs. and 5'5", I'm not exactly a hulking giant, either. Unfortunately, though, I do tend to carry extra weight in my abdomen, and I also love fashion, which is tending toward a lot of flowing tunics and empire-waist tops and dresses these days.
So earlier this month, I was at a barbecue at the home of a partner in my firm. It was pouring rain, but my husband and I politely attended anyway since we had said that we would. We brought the partner and his wife a bottle of wine, and as we presented it to them upon our arrival, he reminded his wife that she'd met me at a similar function last year. We were just shaking hands when he added:
"Kristin's a little bigger than the last time you saw her."
I was still trying to process that comment when his wife said: "Congratulations! When's the blessed event?"
My husband replied with an absolutely straight face:
"What blessed event?"
Needless to say, all parties were mortified. But I chalked it up to their tactlessness and laughed it off.
That wasn't so easy this time, since it was the second time in three weeks.
On Saturday night, I was at a going-away party for two friends of ours (we'll call them Brian and Kelly) who are moving to North Carolina. I greeted their parents, who'd come out to see them off along with everyone else, and Brian's father said to me:
"You look like you've gained a little weight."
This time, I was wearing a black silk empire-waist top, so as I spluttered and stammered, my quick-thinking husband gave him an out: "It's just the shirt."
"Oh! So it's not..."
What bothers me most about both of these incidents is not the fact that I have gained a little weight and that it is clearly becoming visible to others (although I certainly will be working out a bit harder this week.) Rather, it's the audacity, the absolute boldness of the assumption that because I was married about a year ago, and because I am at around the age when I probably would be having children if I planned to, any extra weight gain around the middle, or a flowy top, or a drink that looks anything like water (I was actually drinking Grey Goose and tonic on Saturday, but switched to martinis for the rest of the evening after that incident) -- is automatically interpreted as a pregnancy. So definitely, so certainly, that both of these men felt justified not only in pointing it out, but in doing so in what would be the most offensive possible manner if they were wrong.
Which, of course, they were.
Moral of the story: For the love of God, childed or childfree though you may be, please do not ever, EVER ask a woman about her pregnancy unless you are absolutely sure that she is pregnant. And by "absolutely sure," I mean either she has told you herself that she is, or she is going into labor and is about to give birth right in front of you, and you are approaching her to see whether you might be of any assistance in getting her immediately to the nearest hospital.