I don't think anyone is really listening, so I'm gonna go ahead and say this.
With being pregnant, it generally oscillates between Generally Sucking(GS) and Weeee I'm So Cute and Special(WISCaS). The WISCaS is when I am gingerly strolling the streets of downtown, being greeted with warm smiles of onlookers, and you JUST KNOW they are thinking, Gosh she is so cute. Look at that baby bump. I can hardly stand it. Or strolling around BRU, Gymboree and/or Carter's and admiring all the onesies and obscenely cute matching plaid crib shoes while rubbing my bellae. Or answering non-intrusive, polite questions about due dates, boy or girl, etc.
The GS part is the part that brings you back to reality, with the general getting-larger by the day-ness, the swelling (where the hell did my ankle bones go), random nausea, tiredness and generally being uncomfortable because there just is no comfortable position to sit, lay or stand anymore. I'm become so familiar with this sore spot on my tailbone that I think I will name him Fred or something. Fred is a pain in the azz, literally. Fred is a product of having to lean back partially when seated, due to trying to relieve some of the pressure caused by a burgeoning bellae, but that ends up putting constant pressure on this same spot on my tailbone. Hence, Fred.
And then there's the inappropriate questions. Considering I have a hard enough time retaining female friendships and/or keeping coworkers from plotting against me, I try to refrain from replying with something snarky. But I sure am tired of being asked how I am feeling and being reminded of how much bigger I am getting. Just, please, for once, STFU.
The Second Trimester brought questions as to whether we were hoping for a boy or a girl. What is the point of this question exactly? If we told you (and didn't give the boring standard Just as Long as its Healthy!), and the results end up being something the opposite of what we told you we were 'hoping' for, then you get to snicker and think Ha Ha Suckas. Is this your motivation? If so, we should not be 'friends'.
All of this rambling brings me to the point of this posting. When I announced my pregnancy at work, one of my fellow coworkers informed me that I could get a spot in the parking garage at work (normally reserved for higher-ups, disabled persons, GSA vehicles, etc). I'm sure she was just trying to be helpful, especially being that they didn't give her any trouble at all in requesting a parking space during her pregnancy. So I send off a cheerful email to the pertinent person, asking what I need to do. And I get a snarky email back, saying You don't get a spot just because you are pregnant.
Bitch, please.
And she continues, But if you're doctor thinks so, here's the form for them to fill out.
So fine, I print out the forms, fill out my parts as necessary, like I am filling out Power of Attorney or Home Closing forms (even though this is for a parking spot) and then hand them over to Dr. Smiley at my next appointment, to which he gleefully signs (well maybe not gleefully but I do call him Dr. Smiley for a reason). And then shoot the forms back to the troll in the Building Dept. And then wait. And wait. Finally 2 weeks go by and I send another cheerful email, inquiring to the status of my request. Then another week and I finally get another Oh so Friendly email from the troll, stating that my request has been denied because my doctor said (meaning the troll decided that the signed form wasn't enough and that she needed to verify it with my doctor) that I wasn't High Risk and walking would be good for me.
Oh ho rea-lly.
Now even though I'm tempted, I am NOT storming down to the Building Dept and raising cain. I'm just not. I'm just going to do it here where I can say whatever the hell I damn well please. I'm not going down there and being the crazy prego lady making demands, being that I thought this was just a courtesy extended to the prego ladies of the building. And the prerequisite, that I be 'High Risk'. Um, honeychild, if I was HR, I would be parked at home on bedrest filling my eyeballs with Say Yes to the Dress. And not worried about how far I would have to walk to get from my car to my desk.
It just doesn't seem very fair. I apparently am not friends with the right people, I suppose. It's not the biggest deal in the world, but if I do happen to go into pre-term labor as I waddle my pretty pink princess self into the building, then we may have a problem. Like an employee having had requested their employer to make accommodations for a temporary disability (with Doctor note!) and was DENIED, despite the precedent that was set.
I told that coworker about being denied, and I think she was more upset about it that I was, so she graciously stormed down to the Chief of the Building Dept, and talked with him. He told her that if I filled out the forms again and got my doctor to sign again, and checked the magic amount of the right boxes on the form, that they would re-evaluate the request. But I have a feeling they would just happily deny my request again, so I'm not going through all that again.
But mostly, it's probably because I'm not obese and of a certain color. Doh! Did I just say that out loud?
With being pregnant, it generally oscillates between Generally Sucking(GS) and Weeee I'm So Cute and Special(WISCaS). The WISCaS is when I am gingerly strolling the streets of downtown, being greeted with warm smiles of onlookers, and you JUST KNOW they are thinking, Gosh she is so cute. Look at that baby bump. I can hardly stand it. Or strolling around BRU, Gymboree and/or Carter's and admiring all the onesies and obscenely cute matching plaid crib shoes while rubbing my bellae. Or answering non-intrusive, polite questions about due dates, boy or girl, etc.
The GS part is the part that brings you back to reality, with the general getting-larger by the day-ness, the swelling (where the hell did my ankle bones go), random nausea, tiredness and generally being uncomfortable because there just is no comfortable position to sit, lay or stand anymore. I'm become so familiar with this sore spot on my tailbone that I think I will name him Fred or something. Fred is a pain in the azz, literally. Fred is a product of having to lean back partially when seated, due to trying to relieve some of the pressure caused by a burgeoning bellae, but that ends up putting constant pressure on this same spot on my tailbone. Hence, Fred.
And then there's the inappropriate questions. Considering I have a hard enough time retaining female friendships and/or keeping coworkers from plotting against me, I try to refrain from replying with something snarky. But I sure am tired of being asked how I am feeling and being reminded of how much bigger I am getting. Just, please, for once, STFU.
The Second Trimester brought questions as to whether we were hoping for a boy or a girl. What is the point of this question exactly? If we told you (and didn't give the boring standard Just as Long as its Healthy!), and the results end up being something the opposite of what we told you we were 'hoping' for, then you get to snicker and think Ha Ha Suckas. Is this your motivation? If so, we should not be 'friends'.
All of this rambling brings me to the point of this posting. When I announced my pregnancy at work, one of my fellow coworkers informed me that I could get a spot in the parking garage at work (normally reserved for higher-ups, disabled persons, GSA vehicles, etc). I'm sure she was just trying to be helpful, especially being that they didn't give her any trouble at all in requesting a parking space during her pregnancy. So I send off a cheerful email to the pertinent person, asking what I need to do. And I get a snarky email back, saying You don't get a spot just because you are pregnant.
Bitch, please.
And she continues, But if you're doctor thinks so, here's the form for them to fill out.
So fine, I print out the forms, fill out my parts as necessary, like I am filling out Power of Attorney or Home Closing forms (even though this is for a parking spot) and then hand them over to Dr. Smiley at my next appointment, to which he gleefully signs (well maybe not gleefully but I do call him Dr. Smiley for a reason). And then shoot the forms back to the troll in the Building Dept. And then wait. And wait. Finally 2 weeks go by and I send another cheerful email, inquiring to the status of my request. Then another week and I finally get another Oh so Friendly email from the troll, stating that my request has been denied because my doctor said (meaning the troll decided that the signed form wasn't enough and that she needed to verify it with my doctor) that I wasn't High Risk and walking would be good for me.
Oh ho rea-lly.
Now even though I'm tempted, I am NOT storming down to the Building Dept and raising cain. I'm just not. I'm just going to do it here where I can say whatever the hell I damn well please. I'm not going down there and being the crazy prego lady making demands, being that I thought this was just a courtesy extended to the prego ladies of the building. And the prerequisite, that I be 'High Risk'. Um, honeychild, if I was HR, I would be parked at home on bedrest filling my eyeballs with Say Yes to the Dress. And not worried about how far I would have to walk to get from my car to my desk.
It just doesn't seem very fair. I apparently am not friends with the right people, I suppose. It's not the biggest deal in the world, but if I do happen to go into pre-term labor as I waddle my pretty pink princess self into the building, then we may have a problem. Like an employee having had requested their employer to make accommodations for a temporary disability (with Doctor note!) and was DENIED, despite the precedent that was set.
I told that coworker about being denied, and I think she was more upset about it that I was, so she graciously stormed down to the Chief of the Building Dept, and talked with him. He told her that if I filled out the forms again and got my doctor to sign again, and checked the magic amount of the right boxes on the form, that they would re-evaluate the request. But I have a feeling they would just happily deny my request again, so I'm not going through all that again.
But mostly, it's probably because I'm not obese and of a certain color. Doh! Did I just say that out loud?
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