One Simple Rule for Talking to Me About Your Pregnancy

Over Thanksgiving I had like three friends who announced their (or their spouse's) pregnancy. I'm super happy for them and for the plethora of other friends who are having (or had) babies this year. I actually do love hearing about the trials and tribulations of having to squat out a watermelon that you've had sitting on your bladder for months. But there is one simple rule for anyone (coworkers, friends, neighbors, weird people standing in line at the grocery store) who wants to talk to me about your pregnancy. If you're going to tell me something intimate or gross, think twice about this rule.

If you would be embarrassed talking to me about the details about how the baby got in there, then I don't want to hear about the gross details of getting it out.

I don't want to hear the word episiotomy, horror stories about head size or anything of the sort unless you want to divulge details on the iddy diddy that got you into your predicament. I'm not your mother or even a mother, so I can gladly admit that I'm relatively stupid when it comes to pregnancy and don't want to imagine things about relative strangers.

I don't want someone talking about postpartum pooping at the water cooler or after delivery stretching in line at the grocery store (both of which are topics that relative strangers felt it necessary to educate me on).

If, however, you are one of my close friends for whom I would go or throw a baby shower for with fewer than 10 snarky comments or that I've talked about sex with or with whom I've had to use a plunger at their parents house (or in company of at the aforementioned parental visit), then all bets are off. There are no limits to which you can talk about the oddities of baby birthing to me. You are in the minority on the other side of the rule and I actually welcome your wisdom. (Although frankly may never need it for my own practice).