pregnant for an hour

My plans to attend the Saturday portion of BarCamp were sidelined by a nasty headache, but my day wasn’t entirely wasted: this afternoon I was pregnant for 27 minutes.

I needed supplies for the Scott Pilgrim party we’re having tonight, and the supplies had to come from Super Store for various delicious reasons. Going to the behemoth that is the Real Canadian Super Store on a Saturday is risky business. Going on a Saturday at the start of the holiday season is for daredevils only. Going on a Saturday – holiday season, right before a potential snow storm (Vancouver style; it means maybe an inch of snow and a city in shambles) AND when they’re having a massive store-wide discount special? Hold on to your fucking hats; you may not make it out alive.

I knew the place would be crowded, but I was not prepared for the sheer mass of bargain-hunting humanity that seethed before me. We made it into the parking lot after dispatching several dragons and a hydra, and began the near-hopeless hunt for a spot. Every slot was full; every shopper being vultured – it looked like a lost cause, until I saw it: an empty parking spot, near the entrance, completely free. We headed over, only to realize that it was a fucking “reserved for expectant mothers” spot. We took half a second to think about the moral implications of the situation, then said “fuck it” and triumphantly parked the Mazdabator.

Did you know that while disabled parking spots are enforceable, mommy spots are not? I did.

We’re not inhuman, we just needed to park. For all anyone else knew, I was pregnant – but just to make sure no one got suspicious, Ed and I began to loudly comment on my pregnancy for anyone within earshot. I made him do things because I didn’t want to harm the baby. I bought food for my cravings. My water broke in the store 17 times, and I waxed loud poetry about Ed not being the father (I left that decision up to Twitter). We were in and out of the store in 27 minutes (self-serve checkouts are fucking awesome), and I ceased being pregnant the moment we pulled out of the spot (which promptly led to a graphic and hilarious discussion about .. well, pulling out). I still don’t know what all the fuss is about; my 27 minutes of pregnancy were a total breeze.

I’m sure I should feel guilty about all this, but I had a great deal of fun being pregnant. 27 minutes is enough for me, though. It’s not as though I make a habit of parking where I shouldn’t (and would never dream of parking in a spot reserved for the disabled) but there was nowhere else to go and yeah, I don’t agree with mommy spots. That’s a rant for another time thought; I’ve got a chicken to jerk and an epic time to have, not to mention the remnants of my morning headache. Being pregnant sure is hard work!


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