Pregnancy

We Should Treat All Strangers Like They’re Pregnant

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At a recent lunch at my Baby Daddy’s aunt’s house, I felt like I just won a Golden Globe award. As soon as I walked in, a number of his family members, who I hadn’t met, kissed me on the cheek, hugged me, beamed at me and shouted out, “Congratulations!”

This is because I’m pregnant. Even more important than that, I’m showing! And when you start to show,  everyone in the world is so much nicer to you. I remember this from my first pregnancy, and so this time I couldn’t wait to show. Once it was clear that I had a baby bump, and hadn’t just spent months on a beer bender, I was like, “I’M READY! BRING IT ON! BRING ON THE NICE!”

If everyone in the world treated each other as if they were pregnant, I’m telling you, the world would be a much kinder, gentler and better place. Even though I’m only four and a half months pregnant, I’ve never been treated so well in my life – except for the first time I was pregnant.

First, everyone is happy for me. I love this because, really, all I did was have sex. I’ve written eight books that have sold across the world, thousands of articles, appeared on television numerous times, and no one has been this happy for those other accomplishments. I spent two years writing a book yet all it took was 10 minutes in the sack (maybe 12) to have people be nice to me and tell me how excited they are for me. My parents, for instance, rarely compliment my work, but they are super proud that I am pregnant again and brag about it to all their friends.

I can also ask for things that, in any other circumstance, people wouldn’t do for me. For example, this morning as I was sitting at my computer looking at celebrity gossip websites, I asked my boyfriend to make me a bagel with a bit of butter and peanut butter and to pour me a glass of orange juice and to make sure he shakes the orange juice first. Then I asked for a napkin, too, all while sitting there reading about the Kardashians. He obliged to all of my requests even though I’m perfectly capable of toasting my own bagel and getting my own orange juice. But he happily did it for me – because I’m pregnant. If I weren’t pregnant, I’d probably get a look that said, “What the fuck? I’m not your slave!”

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