The Cruellest Kindness of a Stranger

It was a rainy day in May. Though I was six months pregnant, I hadn't yet resorted to the waddle that helps disperse the weight of the awkward belly.

I'm not one of those women who glows with pregnancy. In fact, if someone were to look at me during pregnancy, they would likely wonder what had been alluring enough about me for my husband to want me to contribute my genes to his offspring. My face immediately becomes haggard, splotchy and sunken while my nose, for some reason, swells just enough for me to avoid mirrors altogether. The exhaustion from not only lugging around a heavy belly but also getting less sleep shows in my gait as well as the bags beneath my eyes. Although, when pregnant, I do my makeup pretty regularly, my wonky, puffy lips are made all the more ridiculous with lipstick and I look altogether clownish in my attempts to glamorize the figurative mugging that comes with growing an infant.

Another bonus of baby incubating is that your body pretty much stops giving a damn about you. As a mommy, when you see others care for your child with tenderness and selflessness, it's a rather warming, restorative feeling. So, when thinking upon this ideal, I can theorize that I am grateful that my body has his same approach. But in reality, the whole Screw-You-Lady-I'm-Busy-With-Your-Spawn gets a little old when the host body is ill. When I get sick whilst pregnant, that phlegm ain't goin' nowhere for at least a month. And since my sleep is already impaired with a wriggling creature in my belly, having to wake myself AND that child to cough up a lung is rather inconvenient.

I avoided touching things as much as I could.

Getting sick--nope, not an option.

And so, one day, when my husband and I sauntered into the Valley Produce Market to do some comparison shopping, we decided to divide and conquer. I perused the produce section, looking over the fruits that help reduce water retention--not for vanity, but for reduction of cankles (they really do hurt).

I found a few things I wanted to try and I tore a plastic bag from the roll. Minding the arrows, I started rubbing the end of the bag with the opening. It wasn't opening. For an instant, I considered licking my fingertips but realized I had been out running errands and hadn't washed my hands and I didn't want to ingest whatever bacteria had accumulated on my hands as we'd toured the town. So I kept rubbing the end of the bag between my fingertips, hoping something would give.

Two women nearby noticed me and my belly, asking me when I was due. We made light conversation and their voices were just as sing-songy as most people's are when engaging strangers about happy possibilities. "Oh, how sweeeeeeeeeeet," and, "Aw, you don't knooooooow what you're haviiiiiiiiiiiiiing?" Lots of off-key warbling.

And then one of the women noticed that I had been maniacally rubbing the end of the bag between my fingers with absolutely no luck.

"You can't get it open?" she asked.

"No, and I don't want to lick my fingers," I said. "It'll give eventually."

She tore a bag from the roll, licked her fingers, rubbed the end of the bag with her spitty digits, and then handed the bag to me.

Horrified but smiling, I took the sealed end of the bag from her.

I couldn't breathe. This was too much. I wasn't even a germaphobe, but, oh hell, this woman was trying to kill me. What do I do with this? I can't. I just--who--I can't--that was so nice but so dumb--so, so dumb--but she was trying--and--nope--not okay.

"Don't worry, I'm not sick," she said, giving me a proud smile for her helpfulness and then getting back to sorting through the piles of produce for the gem of an apple she needed.

Still stunned with disgust and yet deeply touched at her motherly kindness, I didn't have the heart to shriek and stomp on the bag as if it were on fire. But I so wanted to.

Instead, I dropped the bag out of sight and kicked it under the avocado stand, at which time my frantic rubbing finally produced enough heat for the bag to give and open for me.

Stuffing the bag with a few avocados, I thanked her again and hustled off. Screw the rest of the produce. Like hell I could handle any more of that angelic woman's kindness.