The Congratulations Stage
Unless you’re a player on a professional sports team that just won a championship, there are very few things that cause complete strangers to say “Congratulations” to you while you walk down the street. It just doesn’t happen very often.
I mean, maybe if you’re in a graduation gown? Or maybe if you’re wearing a wedding dress? But how often are people rocking their wedding dress or cap and gown 24/7, besides me?
Random congratulations are rare.
The only time I can think of receiving one was when I was walking our beautiful, perfect, teddy bear of a dog, Maple, and an old lady stopped to pet her. For some reason, old ladies especially love Maple and her almost purring-cat-like demeanor. As this woman ran her wrinkly hands through Maple’s fur, she looked up to me and said, “Congratulations.”
I, of course, proudly said, “Thank you,” taking credit for Maple’s natural beauty like I had played some role in creating her.
Still, random congratulations remain rare.
But if you’d like to receive them and don’t want to go through the trouble of winning a professional sports team championship, or don’t want to dust off that cap and gown or wedding dress, or if you don’t have access to a beautiful, perfect, angelic dog like Maple, I simply suggest getting pregnant, because the random “Congratulations” from strangers start rolling in.
Since Meredith started showing more—rocking a beautiful and noticeable baby bump—we officially entered the congratulations stage of the pregnancy. Now anywhere we go, no matter what we’re doing, we’re showered with smiles, thumbs up, and blessings from strangers.
On recent walks, we’ve received these accolades from strangers:
“Congratulations!”
“I’m thrilled for you!”
“Wahoo!”
“You’re absolutely adorable!”
“I can tell it’s a boy because your butt is still small.”
“That’s weird and confusing,” I wanted to say to the last one, but instead we just forced laughter and said thanks.
Some people reach out to try to touch the bump, which seems incredibly inappropriate to me—on par with honking a boob or slapping a random ass—especially since we’re at the tail end of a pandemic.
But it’s started to feel like our whole neighborhood is celebrating Meredith’s pregnancy. Hell, I half-expect the squirrels who frequently run up and down the palm trees lining our street to crush up their nuts and toss them in the air like confetti as we pass, or for the birds to swarm around us, chirping delightful songs while collecting flowers to place in Meredith’s hair like we’re in a Disney movie or some shit.
When I told one neighbor who lives in our building the news about Meredith’s pregnancy, she nearly started crying tears of joy. I mean, Meredith and I are pretty amazing people, but crying because we’re creating a human together seems a little excessive. Though better tears of joy than ones of sadness and anguish, I suppose.
This has been a fun and exciting stage of the pregnancy, much better than the first half where we had to generally keep things a secret and spent most of our time worrying about things like genetic testing and miscarriage.
But we got to the point where we couldn’t keep the secret, even if we wanted to. Meredith is now too obviously pregnant. As her pregnancy has progressed, everything besides her belly has remained completely normal in size, which has worked to accentuate her bump even more, making her almost look like a cartoon character who’s swallowed a beach ball.
I do think it would be funny if when people congratulated us or asked questions about the pregnancy, we told them that she wasn’t pregnant just to fuck with them.
“Congratulations!” they’d say.
“For what?” we’d say back,
“The pregnancy. When are you due?” they’d say.
“What do you mean?” we’d respond, looking as confused as a child doing calculus.
“Oh, I thought you were pregnant,” they’d say looking down Meredith’s very obvious baby bump.
“Wow, how dare you!” we’d scream, acting as shocked and offended as we could, then maybe seeing if they’d buy us something off our baby registry as an apology.
But we won’t do that.
Instead, we’ll continue leaning into the congratulations like Maple might a good butt-scratch from an elderly woman. We’ll smile and wave back at the well-wishers like we’re Miss America pageant winners being paraded down the street on a float, like we’re taking a victory lap, celebrating that our genes are being passed on to the next generation, that we found someone willing to reproduce with.
“We did it! We’re creating life! And somebody actually wanted to sleep with me!” I want to shout.
“You’re amazing! So happy to have your children in the world! And congrats on the getting laid part too!” I expect strangers to shout back.
And all of these congratulations have come at the right time, perfectly coinciding with the world starting to open back up as the tragic pandemic reaches its conclusion. We all need something to be happy about after a year full of hardships, to come back to life, to finally step out into the sunlight and realize that there are still some things worth celebrating.
The congratulations have obviously been mostly aimed at Meredith. After all, I’m just her lumpy husband standing off to the side, the one who was lucky enough to have her let me mate with her.
And at first, I felt bad for mooching off of her unsolicited congratulations, feeling like they were unearned. I mean, what did I really do to deserve them?
But then I thought, fuck that. I like the congratulations, the attention. And we’ve already gone over how rare it is to actually do something in your life that warrants one. This is one of those rare moments. Might as well enjoy it, feel the love.
So, as I did with Maple that one time the stranger congratulated me for her, I just smile and proudly say, “Thank you,” almost like I won a professional sports team championship or something.