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Honing Your 'Pregdar'
a blog by Elphaba, February 28, 2011
The other day, a fellow blogger came up with what I thought was a fantastic word every infertile woman should add to their vocabulary.
Pregdar — as in the innate ability for an infertile woman to spot a pregnant woman from a thousand miles away.
I absolutely have a honed sense of pregdar, so clearly defined that I could find a pregnant woman hiding out in a cave at the bottom of the ocean.
I’ve become a bloodhound, ready to pounce (or crumple to the floor weeping) at the barest hint of swollen belly.
For example, I was at the dog park the other night with my husband, and there was a woman there all bundled up, except that I noticed the bottom of her jacket was unbuttoned and flapping in the wind.
To anyone else, this would be completely innocuous. Only an insane person would see a few open buttons and think, “crap, she’s pregnant.” (Yes, I know.)
I mean there was absolutely nothing to indicate she might be — it was freezing out and she was wearing a puffy jacket. Everyone looks kind of pregnant in a puffy jacket.
But my pregdar — it knew.
I began staring at her like a deranged psychopath, my spidey senses tingling.
I realize there was something sadistic in me that had to know. I could have easily just walked away from the woman, never the wiser, but I just couldn’t. I needed to know. I needed to feel the knife in my heart.
So I stuck around and, sure enough, she finally made a comment about “when the baby comes.”
I felt my husband’s eyes swing to me, worried about how those words were going to affect me. Even though I had been expecting it, I felt my insides seize up. But I tried to remain calm.
I remembered a technique my acupuncturist had suggested on what to do when confronted with this kind of thing: “try and think of something else — something pleasant.”
So I thought about Edward Cullen. (I wish I were joking, but I’m not.)
It actually kind of worked too. (Again, still not joking. Apparently I’m actually a 14-year-old girl… except that then I’d probably be fertile.)
After a few minutes of trying not to cry, I decided it was time for us to leave.
But the pregdar — it follows me wherever I go.
It’s there when I see your status updates about cravings on Facebook. It’s there when I see you rub your still-flat belly in public. It’s there in your phone message telling me you have news.
It’s there, coming to get me in the dark.
So, don’t try and run pregnant women of the world — I will find you (and then promptly do my best to pretend you don’t exist).