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Dear Lindsey,

While pregnant with my third child, I had “Barbie doll leg syndrome” – the term I used to describe the feeling that my leg had disengaged from my body and was only being held together by a rubber band stretched through the socket.  It was painful – almost to the point that labor sounded like a picnic. Daily life of a mother of two active boys, ages 3 and 6, became especially difficult as I dragged my leg, a foot behind (pun intended), trying not to show my limp.

Whether motivated to get me to stop whining or just being thoughtful, my loving husband suggested I get a massage. The thought of an hour of supine silence sounded too good to be true.

It was. My massage therapist must have had too much coffee, or just a genuine interest in me, because she was far from silent. “When are you due?” “Is it twins or triplets?”

That question usually began for me shortly after the 2^nd stripe showed on the pregnancy test – when people couldn’t believe my large size for just one baby. I felt like someone had changed my name to “Dang, girl!” because that was clearly how everyone greeted me. “Dang, girl! I thought you weren’t due for months!” “Dang, girl! What are you eating?” “Dang, girl! How many are in there?! Are you sure they didn’t make a mistake?”

A flight attendant once stopped me from getting onto a plane when I was barely halfway through my pregnancy. She was obviously nervous by my size, as if I were about to give birth. She asked, “Can you fly?”

Insulted, and without slowing my walk into the jet-way, I replied, “in a plane!”

“Wow, you look pregnant from behind now,” a male co-worker shared.

“The only thing she’s splitting these days is her pants!” someone humorously (yes, I thought it funny! – better to laugh than cry) answered a waitress when she asked if I would be splitting my fajitas for dinner.

My kneecaps had disappeared in a pudge of fluid, not to appear again until after birth. When I bent to tie my shoe, I would think, “What else can I do while I’m down here?”

My massage therapist continued the questions, and my dream of a silent hour vanished.

“Are you having twins?” (no. And yes I AM SURE.)

“When are you due?” (4 weeks)

“Are you nervous about labor?”

This was really a trick question, because I was nervous about one part of labor. See, you might remember that I had no labor with my 2^nd boy. He arrived after 4 contractions, before the ambulance arrived, actually before I had even gone down to the first floor of our house. My mother and Chris delivered Nate, although I like to say he delivered himself (9.5 lbs!) and they caught him.

Earlier during this pregnancy, my doctor had asked a similar question, “Are you nervous about delivering at home again?”

I said, “No.  I’m nervous about delivering in the grocery store!”

But, in a continuous attempt to get this massage all the way to silence, I answered shortly, “No, I’m not nervous. I am actually excited to find out if it is a boy or a girl.”

“You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl?! Are you kidding?! Aren’t you going to find out?!”

“Well I hope so; I’ll have to dress it,” my normal comeback to that normal question.

This caused controversy for the rest of the hour, as she questioned why I didn’t find out and how I could possibly wait, knowing I already had two boys – wasn’t I dying to know if it was a girl?

The hour was over; my dream of silent relaxation was crushed. I got off of the massage table, putting pressure back onto my leg joint, and my leg was still disconnected.  After I paid the receptionist, my therapist popped her head into the lobby for a final goodbye. As I limped away, she yelled from behind: “Good luck with that sex!”

I quickly felt the need to interpret the statement for every stranger now watching me hobble unevenly in the waiting room, “She means gender! Gender…of the baby!  I am having ONE baby in FOUR WEEKS and I don’t know the GENDER, so she is telling me ‘good luck with that GENDER!’”

My daughter was born one week later…in the hospital.

Love ya!

Terri Brady

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