Run Fox Run

You probably know there are certain things you shouldn’t say to a pregnant person. Wow, you’re huge, and You look like you’re going to pop, are chief among them. There are lists written by funny people of such things. You can read these lists and laugh uncomfortably because you’ve probably said some of the things you’re not supposed to say, or at least thought them and then snickered to yourself while the pregnant person in question said, “What? What’s so funny?” However, there are some things that you actually should say to such people, and here is that list in its entirety:

1. You look fantastic. [Also acceptable variants: ...great, beautiful, hot.]

2. You are going to be a wonderful mother. [Also try: ...great, cool, competent.]

Say either of these things to a pregnant person, and watch in amazement as a look of dewy gratitude takes over her face. If you say both of these things in rapid succession she may actually weep with said gratitude. THIS IS NOT JUST HORMONES. She is grateful to you, because these are kind and thoughtful things you are saying, and she cannot hear them enough.

By the way, this continues during the labor and delivery process. Repeat these statements, and variations on these themes, for as long as it takes. My own husband stopped after one “You’re doing pretty good,” despite a pregame training program that included my request for continuous encouragment, and later said, well, he didn’t think I was the sort of person who needed cheerleading. Ahem. It may be true that on most days of her life a pregnant person does not need a good deal of reassurance or attagirls, but once the water has broken and push has most literally come to shove, even the steeliest among us can use a little bit of the old 1-2 above.

This brings me to perhaps the most important piece of advice I can offer you regarding things to say to pregnant people. It concerns people who are no longer pregnant, but are now, in fact, mothers. Early on, you will be able to tell these people by the sleep-deprived glassiness in their eyes, the way they wince whenever anything comes within nine inches of their bosoms, and the faint ketone smell suggesting it’s been a while since they showered. The best possible thing to say to these people, in those early harried stages or later on, is this:

1. You are doing a great job.

Followed closely by:

2. You look fantastic.

Say this, and observe, again, dewy gratitude. I am forever grateful to my mother for telling me I was doing okay in the days after Leda was born, and I have tried to pass on the goodwill by reminding my friends that they are doing, truly, great and inspiring jobs at parenting. It continues to surprise me (a) that they don’t already know this and (b) how moved they are to hear that I think they’re tremendous mothers.  I aim for mere competence, myself. Motherhood seems to trigger an insecurity and self-doubt so confidence-shaking that beautiful women worry about their looks and hilarious, great moms fear they’re goofing up at every turn, and everybody seems to make themselves feel better about their own choices by deciding that the other alternatives are wrong or short-sighted or just plain evil. The so-called Mommy wars, just like junior high school, are too much about schadenfreude and insecurity to ever be dealt with by mere reason. So here it is: don’t be reasonable. Don’t think that this level-headed, together-seeming woman doesn’t need a little reassurance. Just offer it, and my simple two-step plan will earn you her deepest thanks.

Speaking of thanks, our holiday photos are in the Thanksgiving2006 album. And in completely unrelated news, here’s a snapshot from last week.  And just maybe why Toby keeps telling me how great I look — he’s a smart man.