Monday, December 29, 2008

Preggo Parking Spaces

Yeah, the parking lot's PACKED from end to end except for that "expectant mothers" parking space, the one with sign with the cute pink stork, right?

I. Will. Park. There. Every. Single. Time! What're they gonna do, make me pee on a stick at the door?

I used to trudge across busy parking lots, too, when I nine months pregnant and dragging a screaming two-year-old. I paid my dues. They OWE me that space.

I also object to the idea that a pregnant woman needs so much special consideration. Not only did I waddle across parking lots, I worked full-time in a hospital, lifting and pulling, and pushing beds and carts, and running up and down halls, to say nothing of exposing myself to godknowswhat deadly diseases, for 39 weeks. Week 40 I went into labor. TWICE!

Technically I'm still an expectant mother: I expect my kids to treat me with respect to my face. I expect them to make me an occasional pot of coffee. I expect them NOT to leave rotting food in their rooms. I expect them NOT to call me from jail in the middle of the night, whning for a bail-out. 

"It's my space and I'll park there if I want to, park there if I want to, park there if I want to..."

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