**Fair warning: I’m pregnant, ranty and have just plain had enough. If the title wasn’t already a dead giveaway, there are bad words in this post. If implied and actual cuss words offend you, then this may not be the post for you.
Once upon a time, I had witty comebacks. People would look at our ever-growing family and say stupid things like, “Don’t you know what causes that?” and I would reply with a saucy smile, “Yes, and we’re really good at it.”
“You people need to get a TV.” (If you think watching TV is more fun than sex, then you’re obviously doing it wrong.”)
“Are you finally going to make him get fixed?” (Why? He clearly isn’t broken.)
It started with my third baby (some crazy number of kids, three) and it’s steadily gotten worse over the past fifteen years. It’s rude and it’s offensive, and I’m done with the self-deprecating humor crap.
I don’t know if it’s that this is my twelfth pregnancy (that’s 12 bouts of extreme morning sickness, thank you), our eighth baby, or that I’m over 40 and y’all are still saying this crap, but I’ve had enough. I’m done being funny. I’m done hoping that you won’t make inappropriate jokes about our sex life. I’m done cringing before your judgmental anti- pregnancy rudeness, and crossing my fingers that for once you’ll decide to be Elsa and just let it go.
Because nobody ever freaking lets it go.
One nasty comment is not ever enough, and don’t feed me that “I’m just joking” or “You need to get a sense of humor” crap.
When you make these kinds of “jokes” to us, you’re asking us to apologize to you for the fact that our children are alive. When you say I should make my husband “tie a knot in it” do you even realize what you’re saying? You’re standing in front of me and talking about my husband’s balls. Let me just say right now and for the record that you do not have permission to discuss my husband’s balls with me. Also off limits are his penis and any of my lady bits, and I swear to you that the next person who thinks it’s funny to tell me that “It’s a vagina and not a clown car” is going to be picking their teeth up off the ground. I’m not even playing here.
It’s offensive as hell, and it’s about time that someone told you so.
About a month ago, as I desperately wished for a woman I was friendly with to drop the subject of my-husband’s-vasectomy-that’s-never-going-to-happen (She didn’t stop for 11 minutes, yes I timed her, and this constitutes sexual harassment, btw) I realized that the witty comebacks and the funny replies that disguised my pleas for acceptance and mercy were being heard as banter. I was sending out the message that talking to me this way was okay because I was helping to make it a joke. I wasn’t making it stop or go away, I was saying quite clearly that I was okay with my sex life being a topic of conversation, the butt of jokes, and the object of derision.
I also realized that nobody knows it’s offensive and that they should stop because I’ve never told them so. My participation has implied agreement (that I agree this is a ridiculous and/or irresponsible number of children) and that it’s worthy of being mocked. The world was constantly stepping over the line because I’d never bothered to draw the stupid line!
A few weeks ago, I decided to draw it good and deep. Y’all’s mamas might not have taught you manners, so now I’m going to be that smack upside your head. I’m done joking and playing around. If you’re behaving like an ass, I’ll tell you so.
I should have started this years ago.
Instead of the witty repartee, I now have one stock answer. It goes like this:
“Don’t you know what causes that?” You’re an ass.
“Are you finally going to make him get fixed?” You’re an ass.
“That’s way too many children.” You’re an ass.
Then I follow it up with the mom death stare, and within moments they apologize. Every. Freaking.Time. And they should, because being a jackass is not okay.
I refuse to ever again apologize for the fact that after 20 years I still really like my husband, and he really likes me. I refuse to try to make you okay with the fact that we’re Catholics and mean it. I refuse to make excuses for the fact that my house is filled to the brim with children we love and would not ever want to live without. I refuse to listen to anyone’s “advice” on what the state of my husband’s balls or my vagina need to be; if you don’t use them you don’t get an opinion or have permission to discuss them. Ever. I refuse to spend even one more minute fighting back tears and silently begging to world to say nice things about the fact that this latest baby is alive, because F you if you think you have the right to an opinion on whether or not my children are alive.
The only appropriate response to a pregnancy announcement is “Congratulations!” If you’re shocked, disgusted, shaking your head, or feel the need to otherwise comment about my children’s existence; then you’re a jackass and I’m done pretending otherwise.
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