Before I had my daughter I often got the feeling that there was some sort of secret society exclusively for people with children.  On several occasions I would be in the middle of a normal conversation with friends or co-workers and mid-sentence they would pause, look at me, realize I wasn’t yet a member of the secret society and laugh “oh, you’ll understand once you have kids” and change the subject.  

Even random things that seemingly had nothing at all to do with children, like needing a pedicure or having the couch reupholstered.  I felt like a child sitting at the adult table on Thanksgiving.   

What?  No!  Include me!  I understand!  My feet look like little iguanas and my couch smells like monkey balls!  What’s the big deal?  I’m cool, man – TELL ME THE SECRETS! 

Once I found out we were going to have a baby I thought my positive pregnancy test would serve as a temporary membership card into the secret society and I was dying to finally see what magical and wondrous things were waiting for me behind the curtain. 

A few weeks later, when my stomach began its unbridled ascent into Gigantor Land, I learned that before I can officially join the secret society I had to endure a very arduous and painful 9-month initiation process much worse than any hazing I experienced when trying to join a sorority in college. 

There I was – innocently browsing for onesies when out of nowhere a google-eyed zombie head would pop up from under the clothing rack and scream “What’s your due date?  Are you having a boy or a girl?  Is this your first?  Do you have a name picked out yet?  Quick – what are the five virtues of being a good Mother!?  FASTER!”  Then it would chase me through the store and try to eat my face.

Or even worse, my trusted girlfriends who turned out to hold executive offices in the secret society relentlessly grilling me with questions about what whether or not I’m going to breastfeed before forcing me to swallow a goldfish.  

While surprised by the frequent inquisitions, at first I was happy to answer any and all questions that came my way.  What?  You want to talk about me?  Well, pull up a chair, my new best friend!  In fact – gather ’round, everyone!  I’m going to regale you with the fascinating play-by-play of the night the baby was conceived and every moment thereafter!  Let me start by telling you that I feel like I haven’t pooped in decades and I barfed something that looked like a baby woodpecker this morning! 

But after a few weeks I realized that there was a motive behind the inquiry.  A very dangerous motive. 

The inquiry serves as the initial warm up – a way for secret society members to squeeze a wealth of personal information from you that they will later use as ammo while dolling out hours of unsolicited advice.  Advice that was frequently supported by personal examples graphic enough to bring on a lifetime of night terrors. 

The following are ACTUAL EXAMPLES of conversations I had while pregnant with Ellie:

Checker at Babies-R-Us:  When’s your due date? 

Me:  May 5.

Checker at Babies-R-Us:  Wow!  You’re really big!  You’re probably going to have a really big baby!  You should have your husband stretch out your perineum (that’s cha cha cha in laymen’s terms) every night before bed.  My baby was nine pounds and I got third degree tears.  Do you need a gift receipt?

Me:  Oh, no thanks.  But can you please give me an extra bag to hold the obscene amount of vomit I’m going to hurl once I get to my car?  Thanks.

My Co-Worker:  So when’s that baby coming out?

Me:  Any day now!

My Co-Worker:  You know the best thing you can do to bring on labor?  Sex.  My wife and I had so much sex when she was pregnant that I thought my son was going to be born with a dent in his forehead.

Me:  Oh, that’s really interesting.  Can you excuse me a moment while I run to the bathroom and wipe up the blood that’s spewing from my ears?  

I became extremely skilled at answering questions as quickly and ambiguously as possible but without fail when I would try to make my escape I would look down and find that my ankles had become shackled to the floor.  I was trapped listening to stories about hemorrhoids and nipples, sometimes for hours.  It was like my own personal Clockwork Orange.

Now that I am a full-blown member of the secret society I try to be as gentle as possible when I see a new pledge.  It’s hard to explain but once I joined the club it’s like some sort of primal instinct has ignited and I have no control over offering at least one little piece of advice when I see a baby bump. 

I’ll fight it as hard as I can during the conversation but as she’s walking away I’ll yell “don’t forget to pack warm slippers for the hospital!” or whisper “not that one… get the ‘Lil Lamb Dream Swing…” in her ear as I pass behind her in Target.

Annoyingly creepy?  Yes.  But some day she’ll understand.

Hannah Mayer is a 12-year St. Louis resident and Mom to 13-month-old Ellie.  She’s new to the Full-Time Mom; retiring from her 10-year career at an advertising agency in January. Her personal blog can be found at www.sKIDmarking.com. Follow her on Twitter @ The_sKIDmark .

Photo from Midlifecrisisblog.org