Tactlessness: it's not just for infertility anymore

When I read the goings-on over at Barren Mare and Naked Ovary, I decided that I needed to make my own foray into the quest for answers to the "When Did It Become Okay?" nightmare. I've had all holiday weekend to mull this over, so it's gonna be a doozy.

When did it become okay . . .

to quietly, but firmly, inform people that the infertility was all my fault because (pre-gastric bypass) I "was soooooo big"? a la my mother-in-law. Even though she's convinced it's true, why why why oh why does she spout off about this all the time. See all along my enormous weight gain, was, in fact, a method of birth control. I thought it worked swimmingly well. So there.

to ask, in all seriousness, when I was in all of my fourth month of pregnancy, if I thought that my pregnancy weight had "all gone to my hips and butt"?

to say, that because I "acted okay" that I really didn't have pre-eclampsia and that contrary to blood test results, that I probably really didn't have renal or liver failure, again, because I "looked fine". Thus damning the entire medical profession to uselessness, due to the fact that the repeated and quite vocal observations of casual acquaintances are more reliable than a doctor's diagnosis, lab results, and a second opinion. And cheaper too. Sshh, don't tell the insurance or they will be muy pissed off.

to blame every single complaint or dislike I've had post-pregnancy on "post partum depression", even the problems that I've complained about for the past 3 years, a la my husband and my mother-in-law. Oh, all right, yes, I admit to being so gifted in bitchiness that I can actually channel postpartum depression several years before my actual pregnancy occurred. I have carefully cultivated this talent for over 30 years, it's not something one can just casually aspire to.

to repeatedly tell me (whilst I'm suffering and stressed out from pre-term labor at 30 weeks) that your own "miscarriages didn't bother" you at all. Well, that is because you are a freak and I refrain from telling you that.

to tell people (when introducing my children) that "A came from China, N came from Korea, and C came from God". The only implication I get from this is that someone doesn't think my older two kids came from God. Then, if I'm really really really lucky, follow this up with the comment about the infertility being all my fault. Yep, this from my mother in law again, God love her.

to perkily inform me that, "see, you adopted and then you got pregnant!" Um, okay. It was the adoption that cured me. We'll be sending those troublesome kids back now--that was one damned stressful cure, I'm telling you. And since A is 6 years old, it was the slowest cure I've just about ever seen. Whew, good thing we grew to love the little buggers. This comment is best issued from the SuperFertile Myrtles of the world who have no experience with adoption or infertility. That makes it best.

to ask about me about the birthparents of my older two children, usually while in the presence of my older two children. Uh, yeah. Like that's your business.

to ask if I have cancer (or, my personal favorite, AIDS) since I've lost so much weight. Because if I did have a terminal illness, I'd want to be all chatty about it over a luncheon with a group of casual acquaintances. Since, yeah, it takes the threat of death for fat girls to stop eating. It's a little-known obesity cure, but please don't tell Dr. Talbott or he'll try to bottle it.

to sarcastically (and, I daresay, cattily?) remark that "it must be nice to wear such small jeans". Okay, they are a size 8. EIGHT!! I ain't Twiggy. Get hold of yourself, bitch. Is "cattily" a word? I thought it was, but it sure doesn't look right.

I think that about covers it. For now, anyway.