Expanded dimensions

I’m still in some sort of denial about how big I’m getting. I waited until last week to have “the talk” with my boss, and he had the grace to actually act surprised.

(He sort of cancelled that out, though, by following up–in front of my six female coworkers–to tell me to tell my husband that “wished for me to have a son, and not a daughter,” but I’m saving my rant on that particular topic for another day.)

I just think it’s pretty neat that—at 21 weeks—I can fit into some of my pre-pregnancy clothes (OK, really just sweatpants and pajamas), and I guess that’s led me to the erroneous assumption that maybe not everyone realizes that I’m pregnant.

But when random people on the bus and subway stand up to give you their seats, you know the jig is up.

From what women back in the States have told me, I’m definitely lucky that this is such an ingrained tradition here. Older women who, five months ago, would have knocked me over to get to a vacant chair now voluntarily surrender theirs. (There are still lots of men who are either clueless or deliberately faking when I stand directly in front of them—and the sign above their seat that says it’s reserved for the elderly, disabled and pregnant women.)

But, for the most part, people here are really good about not letting the elderly, pregnant, or people carrying young children or packages, stand up. I boarded both a crowded subway car and a cross-town bus yesterday and both times someone got up so I could sit down.

I try to accept as gracefully as possible. But, I confess, I’d usually kill to get a seat, so I am millking this for all it’s worth. Two days ago, I was riding the subway home from work, I did manage to find a convenient spot leaning against the wall at the back of the cabin, when a woman made her husband get up from one of the reserved seats. He was a good bit older than I was, and I was feeling not totally exhausted at that point, so I told her it was OK, that he could keep it. She insisted, pushing him out of the seat and gently scolding me as I sat down, “아기” (”Baby”) she said, patting my belly, indicating that, “it’s not about you, silly, but the well-being of that kid in there.”

And, I have to say that before that day I would have said I was the kind of woman who would absolutely hate having a stranger touch my belly. But, it turns out, that if you’re giving me your subway seat on a crowded train at 6 p.m., then you can pat any part of me you want.

Almost ….

And, only if you’re a woman.