It's Story Time in Pregnant Land: When People Share Too Much

So...I haven't posted much since I got pregnant. I apologize! I've been distracted with my endless snack breaks, real work, and being mesmerized by my growing tummy. But, lest I miss this primo opportunity to share the idiosyncracies of pregnancy etiquette, I have quite a story to share today.

I remember when I was engaged and planning my wedding to Mr. Proper Paige. I was pleasantly surprised that so many people wanted to hear about our wedding plans, including specific details like flowers, buffet versus seated dinner options, number of attendants, etc. After several of these conversations, I realized that I wasn't doing much of the talking. On the contrary, my eager conversants were more interested in telling me how THEIR wedding planning went, anywhere from one to twenty years in the past.

I heard tales of orchids being replaced with daisies (shudder); of bridesmaids gone awry (standard); of drunk uncles crashing into drumsets at the reception (wow). They heard a lot less about my plans. I had realized that it was best to just smile and nod.

Being pregnant is a lot like that. While an engagement ring is something of a billboard that reads, "Ask me about my wedding!," the stomach of a 6 1/2 months' pregnant woman is like a skywriter's message. So, I'm currently getting questions from strangers, coworkers, people in the checkout line, you name it. And what I am learning, or remembering, is that people really like to talk about themselves. Their interest in you is quite often a pretext for their own stories.

The trick with this is that pregnancy stores are ... intense, to say the least. Having a baby is a messy, intimate, painful, stressful, momentous occasion. And, while many deliveries are smooth and happy, some are NOT. Delivery is like a box of chocolates, perhaps?

So, what, precisely, is the etiquette nugget du jour here? (Well, it's the etiquette nugget of the day...sorry.) Dare I say it, the nugget goes both ways.

First, to those of you who are not pregnant and are over the moon excited for your friend, cousin, coworker down the hall, please share your enthusiasm in moderation. Try, as best you can, to remember what it was like when you were pregnant and people overshared with you. Save the stories of your waterbirth, the depth of your bond with your doula, or other, highly-intimate details until the pregnant woman shows some genuine interest in taking your conversation to that level. While your stories, memories, and expertise are a gift, all pregnancy conversations do NOT begin on the level where it's okay to talk about episiotomies and epidurals. They just don't.

Now, for you pregnant ladies among us, think this over: People are excited. You are creating new life and that is the coolest thing on the planet. People dig it, and people dig your belly. Yes, it might often feel like your belly has a life/mind/fanbase of its own, but that's just part of the experience. And when people overshare (because they do), just remember that they are doing it because they have something in common with you -- something fundamental, often spiritual, and always moving. And they really want to share. So, try not to push them over like punching bags on your way to the bathroom/snack machine/exit. Rather, try to breathe, to listen, and to appreciate the sentiment with which the story is being delivered.

There. Do we all feel better now? I know I do. Even though a coworker rubbed my belly and then told me he was going to play the Pick Three.

Etiquette is the Curse of the Drinking Classes? A Proper Observation

So, as is abundantly clear from my last few postings, I am expecting. And I promised, sincerely, to refrain from making every post from now until the little one arrives about pregnancy etiquette. And I am a woman of my word.

I will say that pregnancy gave me the lens through which I viewed the behavior that is today's topic for discussion. You see, prior to my burgeoning motherhood, I enjoyed a cocktail from time to time. Oh, a cocktail or five. I am particularly fond of wine. I also love a good martini. Before I start to weep from deprivation, let me quickly continue.


I had the pleasure of attending a very fancy and fun charity Halloween ball back, well, you know, at Halloween. It was in an exquisite, historic hotel downtown, and featured several rooms of attractions, food, libations, and a live band. Ooh, and a silent auction. I love silent auctions. Anyway, quite a grand event.

I was at said event, dressed to the nines for the occasion, in heels and huge amounts of character-developing makeup, as the situation required. I perused the silent auction, surveyed the munchies, and duly noted the libations offered as I requested water. I hung out with friends, mingled, and observed. Good times.

Boy, did I observe. If I had been at this event without a bun in my oven, I would have had several drinks, danced a bit, and kicked up my old witchy heels. But, with the water in hand and bun in oven, I took a different approach to enjoying the event. Hey, whatever works. But, I started to notice as the evening wore on that everyone around me was, well, sort of drunk.

Case in point: I was standing in line at the bar, waiting patiently for more water. The man in front of me was waiting for the bartender's attention (Thirsty Guy). When he got it, he politely asked for a Shiner Bock. She handed him one and he started to move away. At that moment, a man in a tuxedo (Tux Guy), turned to the bar, walked up to it, interrupted all bar-related conversation, and abruptly demanded: "Give me a Shiner."

The bartender turned to Tux Guy and explained that Thirsty Guy had gotten the last one. Tux Guy started to make a mean face. Thirsty Guy reached out with the beer and said, "Here, take it. I haven't even touched it." Tux Guy turned mean face on Thirsty Guy, and then turned back to bartender and said, "Give me a Shiner."

We repeated this delicate exchange, as Tux Guy wasn't using his full command of language comprehension (or listening) to process that the bartender didn't have any more Shiner. He continued with mean face, and turned to the icy tub of beers (for bartender's hands only), perused the selection, picked up a Dos Equis, handed it to the bartender, and said, "Here. I want this."

Grateful to be glad of him, the bartender acquiesced to this rude behavior, opened the beer and handed it back to him. Tux Guy made one more mean face at everyone in the vicinity (including the sober and pregnant witch who was next in line), and huffed away, Dos Equis in hand.


From an etiquette standpoint, where do I even begin?

Let's start with the bartender. Technically, the bartender did nothing wrong. Granted, she could have stopped Tux Guy from cutting in the line and disrupting her service to other, less inebriated and well-meaning guests. In fact, she could have said, "Excuse me, sir, but I am helping these guests in line. I will get to you in just a minute." She may have been sizing up his mean face and decided that it was easier to just dispose of him. If so, fair enough. But, if we're truly crunching the numbers on how this situation was handled, She Who Is In Charge of the Alcohol holds the power. And she neglected to use it to ensure a pleasant experience for all.

Okay, moving on to Thirsty Guy. Thirsty Guy didn't do anything wrong, either. In fact, he was extremely gracious -- he offered the last Shiner in the beer tub to his comrade in a penguin suit. Maybe he sized up the mean face and decided to just dispose of the guy. Maybe he thought a Heineken actually sounded better. We'll never know for sure -- but that was a nice gesture. Unnecessary, but nice. In the end, of course, he got his Shiner Bock and also a story to tell about the jerk at the bar. All's well that ends well for Thirsty Guy.

What about me? Pregnant Lady? I wasn't really involved in the situation -- I was just caught in the cross-fire as I waited for my opportunity to ask for water. But, if I'm holding innocent people accountable, I suppose that I could have said something along the lines of what the bartender could have said: "Excuse me, sir, but we've been waiting. Just a moment, please."

I don't think so, though. I think that would have been unnecessary and rude. I mean, it's best to keep my nose out of it, which I did. Perhaps my role in it all was to observe and report!

Finally, on to Tux Guy. Clearly, he was the monkey wrench in the situation. He disrupted the line, demanded something that the bartender could not provide, turned down a generous offer that would have gotten him what he wanted, made mean face at everyone, and was indignant and rude the entire time. You, dear readers, don't need Proper Paige to tell you what's wrong with all of that. It's all wrong.

Here's the rub -- I don't have any idea what this guy is like when he's not at a gala. I don't know what he's like when he has not consumed eight beers (or however many). But I do know that, on that evening, he was drunk and being a jerk. His behavior dampened a few moments of everyone's great night. Now, don't cry for me Argentina; it was no big deal, but I think the point here is that drunkenness can be, in and of itself, a faux pas.

Maybe this is a timely reminder as we head into the holiday season, replete with punch bowls, eggnog indulgences, and mimosas galore. Maybe this is always something to keep in mind. Either way, drink up and live well, my non-pregnant friends.

Quote of the Day

"While democracy in the long run is the most stable form of government, in the short run, it is among the most fragile." Madeleine Albright

When I was in graduate school in Washington, DC, I was summoned for jury duty. Like other potential jurors, I found this civic duty to be something of a pain in the neck. Everyone, including angsty grad students, thinks they have something better to do on a random Tuesday in February than jury duty. In truth, we don't. It's a crucial part of our legal system.

I digress. On that blustery, rainy, DC day, I trudged to the courthouse, forgoing my usual trip on the Metro for a cab because I felt sorry for myself. I lined up with my peers for the day and noticed someone slightly ahead of me in the line. I noticed the set of the hair, the cut of the suit, and the elegant-yet-respectable shoes.

As it happened, I had been called for jury duty on the same day as our esteemed former Secretary of State, Madame Madeleine Albright. I didn't muster the courage to speak to her, nor do I know what I would have said if I had. (Hi. You're awesome. How are you today? I mean, that probably wouldn't have been the most suave approach. Maybe better that I remained quiet.)

Madama Albright is in Austin today for a booksigning of her new book, Read My Pins: Stories from a Diplomat's Jewel Box. In the book, she tells stories of how she collected pins during her world travels, and also how she used her pins as a unique way to communicate.

"The first President Bush had been known for saying 'Read my lips,'" she says. "I began urging colleagues to 'Read my pins.'"

She wore doves to peace talks. She wore a gold eagle with widepread wings for her swearing in. She wore ladybug or butterfly pins when she was in a good mood. She wore crab pins when she was not.

In short, she used her style, grace, and sense of sartorial humor to communicate while serving as one of the world's leading diplomats. She had one of the most significant jobs in the world, and she handled it with gravitas and fashion sense. Isn't that the most proper thing to do?

We should all be so savvy. Thanks, Madeleine.

Clowns Scare Me: Knowing When to Say Things

When you're driving in icy conditions and you start to slide, you are supposed to steer into the skid. The theory (also known as physics) is that you can regain control of the car and then steer yourself out of it. In real life, people often freak out and overcorrect, thereby making the slide worse and harder to control.

Evidently, baby terrain is like black ice to me. I put my foot in my mouth the other day, and pretty much lost control of the car.

I have a co-worker who is awesome. She is perky, organized, funny, and sincere. She takes great interest in my pregnancy and is genuinely excited for my husband and I. Which I adore and appreciate.

On the day in question, the talk turned to nursery decor. We are not finding out the sex of the baby, and feel like that's a bit of a curve ball in the decor department. I shared this with her and then blithely dared to say, "I think we're just going with colors. I want it to be very tasteful. We're so not having any of those cutesy themes." [Keep in mind that I said the word cutesy as if it is a synonym of bubonic, pestilent, or vile.]

She eagerly replied, "Oh, my nursery was a circus theme! It was so fun!"

Now, this isn't so bad, yet. I could have saved myself by telling her how cute that sounds and moving on with the discussion. But, could I do that? Could I save myself from the foot in mouth? Nope, nope, nope.

Why? Because it just so happens that I am one of the populace that thinks clowns are freaky, in a bad way. So, I could have played through and smoothed it over. But, no. I had to react to my new, inavoidable mental image of babies surrounded by shrieking, grimacing clowns. Or, even worse, a baby as a clown. Shudder.


I think that came out like this: "Ooh, clowns. Wow." Pretty much in the same tone you would use to say, "Ooh, botulism. Wow." (Sorry for all the scary pictures. Had to make my point.)


So, luckily for me, she is impervious to my clear distaste of the theme in which she chose to surround her precious babies. She merrily proceeded on with the conversation, not giving my judgment a second thought. Phew, thank goodness.


That was a close one. And here's why this matters: Once people find out you are pregnant, the unsolicited advice, scary stories (both intentional and unintentional) come pouring out. You, the pregnant lady, are the recipient, and have to find a polite and tasteful way to graciously listen to these stories.


Here are my pointers for doing this. Hopefully these don't fall into the category of "easy to say, hard to obey":

1. Smile and nod.


Perhaps the most important of listening techniques, this one is based in the absolute truth that people like to hear their own voices. And when it comes to babies, people like to share their own stories. As much as you can, it's polite to let them.


2. Work on your poker face.

(Photo courtesty of www.funnyhub.com)

'Nuff said. But for those of you who know me, this is quite the challenge. A friend in college once told me that my face is a barometer. And it is, which is why I do not play poker.


3. Shut people down tactfully, when necessary.




The basic rules of body language are coming in very handy as I explore this one, truth be told. Changing your body position to angle slightly away from the person, changing your posture, clearing your throat -- all things that can give you a crack in the conversation though which to dive and change the topic.

There's also the more direct, "Oh, that's interesting; thanks for sharing. So, what did you do this weekend?"

4. Take it or leave it.





No one said that you, like the postmodern mama that you are, have to become the composite of all advice, wanted and unwanted that is thrown your way. I keep reminding myself that there are million ways to do things -- and I am 99% sure that this includes being pregnant. So, take stock of the advice that sounds good to you, like you, or wise, and let the rest roll off of you. (Note: This is hard on the days that you would kill for a piece of chocolate, but I try and stay optomistic with the advice.)

5. Remember, you are driving this train.

A friend just told me that she loved being pregnant because it was ten whole months that she got to take her little buddy with her everywhere. And you know, I know what she meant. When it's just you and the little one, you are in charge. Granted, you can't ask someone else to hold the tyke so that you can go have some sushi and sake, but that's a small price to pay in the long run. So, it's your body and your child. Have fun and go for it.

But if that involves clowns, don't be offended by my reaction...

Noone Expects the Spanish Inquisition: The Q&A of Pregnancy

When I was a kid, I would come home from school, make myself a delicious snack of Tab and Ritz crackers, and settle in to watch a little telly before I did my homework. (Clearly, my love of carbs and diet sodas started at an early age.) I recall that on channel 54 (no cable then, people), Bewitched came on at 4:00 and I Dream of Jeannie came on at 4:30. I would sit on the floor and lose myself in the goofy scrapes and dramatic ironies of two magical married couples, while the cares of my harried middle school existence would simply melt away...

Given my rapt attention to these classic sit-coms, I firmly believe that one of the best TV trivia questions of all time is this:

On Bewitched, what is the name of Samantha and Darren's next door neighbor?

And, for an extra point, what is the name of the neighbor's beleagured husband?

Answer: Gladys Kravitz.

Bonus Answer: (in a shrill voice) ABNER!!!

Gladys was absolutely fascinated with what occurred in the Stevens' home. She was utterly and unshakeably convinced that something evil and wrong was going on. I suspect that she also had a hunch that whatever it was, it was a heck of a lot more exciting than whatever she had on her agenda for the day.

Regardless, our dear Gladys had seen far too many puffs of smoke, people in period dress, and hackle-raising nose twitches to believe that Samantha was merely perfecting her Chicken a la King recipe next door. And so, she skulked, sniffed, peeped, probed, and prodded in her attempts to solve the mystery. So far as I know, she never did. Meanwhile, of course, she would regale her husband, Abner, with the stories of her suspicions. When he reluctantly put down his pipe and newspaper to respond to her, he told her in every possible way that she was imagining things. Poor Abner.

Where am I going with this? It's simple: Being pregnant is like being Samantha Stevens, and having the whole world be Gladys Kravitz.

Now, let me be the first to say that I realize bringing a baby into the world is a totally momentous occasion. And I sincerely appreciate all of the caring, support and exuberance that I'm getting from those around me. I really, really do. And, with family and close friends, I am more than happy to share the joy, details, and weird little stories. But I'm not writing this stuff on a billboard, people. It's personal.

So, what I mean to say is that, since becoming publicly pregnant, the questions are blowing my mind. Let me articulate myself, as I so often do, in list format:

1. "Congrats...was this planned?"

You can't answer this question. If you say no, then you invite more questions about (shudder) your chosen method of contraception, your desire for children, and your fertility. Woah, Nellie.

If you say yes, then you give the questioner rock-solid confirmation that you and your spouse are doing the nasty. Again, sort of assumed, but not really not their business.

My take is that the only polite response to this question is a firm but polite, "We're thrilled."

2. "Is this your first?" (cynical sneer)

Please note: This is not an offensive question if it is asked with a smile and not a sneer. But I have been approached by people who are not enthralled with parenting or their children, at present, who sneer at me like I've just agreed to play Russian roulette. It's that "good luck, buddy, and you'll need it" look which offends me.

Dare I say that my child will not be a hellion who makes me want to put my head in the oven and harass innocent pregnant coworkers?

Polite answer: "Yes, and we are so excited!" (Change topic)

3. "How do you feel?"

This question sounds good, but is often a sneak attack. In keeping with the age-old truth that people generally prefer the sound of their OWN voices, I've found that people ask this question not to find out how I actually feel, but for one of two reasons: (1) to hear me say that I feel great and move on with the conversation; or (2) to ignore my response and start telling me horror stories about how sick they/their friends/their daughters/their neighbors were.

Regardless, I think that the only polite response to this question when asked by a casual observer (i.e., somone NOT inside the circle of trust) is: "I feel really good; thanks for asking."

Because only your mother or best friend wants to know that you are bloated, moody, gassy, and flipped off five people on your commute to work that morning, while crying to a Beyonce song on the radio. So, you know, just sugar coat it for them.

When people start telling you how horrible someone else felt during their pregnancy, the polite response is: "How horrible. I know that I am very lucky to feel well. Thanks for asking!"

4. Well, thanks, Proper Paige. I am now afraid to speak to a pregnant woman. What, pray tell, is acceptable to ask?

I realize that the above diatribe might well put you off of speaking to any pregnant acquaintances or coworkers. This would be bad. Pregnant woman are not Medusa (at least, not all the time). We like to be spoken to -- and let's face it -- this baby is pretty much the only thing we're thinking about, so it never hurts to get on our wavelength and ask enlightened questions.

Proper Paige's Pre-Approved, No-Fail List of Questions to Ask a Pregnant Lady:

• Congratulations! (Not a question, I know. Just a reminder to say congrats without a question attached to it.)


• How far along are you? (Pregnant women answer this question in #s of weeks. There are four weeks in a month. You can do the math.)
  
• Is your (insert spouse/significant other) name excited? (Of course, the answer to this question is yes, but it's a nice shout-out to the other party and gives us something to blather about.)
  
• When is your due date? (We are counting down to this like NASA to a shuttle launch. Astrologically enclined people can use the answer to this question to segue into a mention of future baby's Zodiac sign. People who think that's wacko can talk about the weather in that season, approaching holidays, etc., thereby staying safe with the Roman calendar.)
  
• How do you feel? (Yes, I realize that this was mentioned as verboten above. But I think that, when asked sincerely, it's a very nice question to ask. If the lady responds with a positive answer, praise her. If she alludes to illness or discomfort, be sympathetic. It's that simple.)

I would appreciate it. I dare say that other pregnant women would appreciate it. And it's probably even Abner-approved.

Simple Etiquette Grows Up, and Out

So, I've been blogging for a while now, and am honored to have a growing legion of loyal fans. (Thanks, fans!) I try to tackle issues that my friends and I are facing in our modern, hectic lives as they pertain to etiquette, decorum, good graces, and general "good behavior."

We all know the basics: please, thank you, the value of flowers and handwritten notes, the golden rule, etc. But life for the modern girl (or guy) on the go is so often tricker than that. And I truly believe that etiquette is not about following rules for the sake of being right. I believe that etiquette is about behaving in a way that makes you happy and those around you comfortable. (We have already established that I live in a world of rainbows, cupcakes, and handwritten thank you notes.)

That said, I have a new source of inspiration these days. And I've decided to use that source of inspiration to add a new facet to our ongoing etiquette discussion. I'll still be writing about the same types of things, but now and again, they will address the etiquette of pregnancy.

That's right, dear readers, I am now (until spring 2010) Pregnant Proper Paige! DH (Debonair Husband) and I are delighted to be bringing a little one into the world! We are enjoying this new adventure wholeheartedly.

That said, you will start to see how I cannot separate etiquette and pregnancy. Because as soon as people think, know, or suspect that a woman is pregnant, the rules fly out the window. Holy moly, this topic will prove to be rich and scintillating over the coming months. And as I said before, the blog is not derailing into teddy bear and baby buggy land. Nope, nope, nope. Just the occasional detour on the baby express.

All aboard!

The Tao of John Mayer: Say What You Need to Say

I have a dear friend, fellow runner and fellow etiquette maven, who adores John Mayer. His lyrics are the script to the movie of her life; his harmonies are the soundtrack.

I also like John Mayer. I think "Clarity" is a masterpiece. I think he's pretty cute and pretty talented.

One of John's most recent radio-play hits is entitled, "Say What You Need to Say." My dear husband has a field day with this song every time it comes on in his presence. His primary complaint is that the song repeats the title phrase over and over, and over, again. He does not believe the song has any other lyrics. (Which it does. But it does repeat a lot.)

Courtesy of John, my dear friend, and my dear husband, we bring you today's simple etiquette mantra, incidentally worthy of repeating over and over: Say what you need to say.

At the risk of being entirely too vague, I've had to do this several times over the course of the past few days. Sometimes the risk of being an etiquette maven is that I am so concerned about doing the right thing and caring for other people's feelings that I don't pay attention to my own. As a result, I have found myself doing the following things, at various times in the past:

• Agreeing to do something I didn't really want to do.
  
• Spending more than I could afford to do something I thought I "should" do.


• Saying yes when I wanted to say no.


• Taking on more than "my fair share" of a shared project.


• Staying up too late to finish whatever I'd agreed to do.


• Stressing myself out.


• Not enjoying any of it.
  

Maybe it's my advancing age, or maybe I am just getting some well-earned Clarity, but I'm not doing this type of thing anymore. Because when I overcommit or let someone put me in an undesirable position, I am being my own worst enemy. I do believe that the world is a beautiful place, filled with love, decency, cupcakes and thank you notes. I also know that for every cupcake, there is someone willing to take advantage of you. And that for every thank you note, there is someone not sending one.

So, here's my new list of things that I will do:

• Say what I need to say.


• Even if that's "no."


• Even if that is "I appreciate the invitation, but I just won't be able to do/make/give/spend/donate/find/organize/attend that."

The list is shorter because it is more concise. The list is more concise because I just streamlined my priorities: me, my family, my well-being. And trust me, I will be polite, cognizant of others' feelings, organized, punctual and kind in my responses. Etiquette doesn't fly out the window just because you are looking out for #1. On the contrary, looking out for #1 is where all of this should always start. There may be more on this. I think we're onto something big here.

For what it's worth, that's the advice today. Go ahead, just say it.