“I like to think I’m a fairly tolerant person. I’m not, obviously, but I still like to think it. In truth, as I get older the list of things that disproportionately annoy me gets longer. Grammatical errors. Tourists who walk too slowly down busy London thoroughfares. Pregnant women who wear “Baby on board” badges when travelling on public transport. That kind of thing.”
I read the first paragraph of Elizabeth Day’s column in The Observer last weekend and thought: I like her; she’s a bit like me. Because not only am I a notorious grammar stickler, but I used to think exactly that – in fact, I still feel a bit like that – about those stupid badges.
Still today, I refuse to wear one. Despite finding out that the back pain and exhaustion that comes with pregnancy can turn up way ahead of the neat little bump, nine weeks on from being diagnosed with pelvic girdle pain and spending a week completely housebound with pain, I still don’t wear one.
What is it that the ‘Baby on board’ badge says that’s so offensive? Does it communicate weakness? Is it something about the blatantly ticking biological clock that our career-minded society can’t stomach?
A nice, middle-aged lady stood up as I got on the tube the other day and gave me her seat. Then she smiled and said, “You should get one of those badges. You’re only very tiny, and people can’t tell.” I’m sure it came from a good place, yet I felt attacked. After all, she clearly could tell, couldn’t she?
“You’re only very tiny,” what does that mean? Is it a compliment, meaning that I’m skinny (in which case it’s a lie)? Does it mean I don’t actually look that pregnant after all (in which case it feels a bit like a slap in the face)? The bump will bloody grow, won’t it? And, as much as I appreciated her giving me her seat, who is she to decide whether or not I choose to publicise my current state in order to get comfortable during my commute, and how I choose to do so? Is it really that embarrassingly awkward for people to stare at my belly for a few seconds to try to figure out what’s really going on, and if so, is that my fault? I’m not moaning, am I? Or am I ruining the rush-hour peace with my sheer presence?
Of course she’s got a point. Elizabeth Day may be a fantastic writer with plenty of self-awareness and an ability to laugh at herself, but at the end of the day it’s not the middle-aged woman on the tube who is pathetic for thinking that a simple badge might help. Maybe I should learn to laugh at myself too, and get over what seems like nothing but a superwoman complex.
(By the way, a clearly blind woman with a walking stick got on the bus this morning. I waited for a second, but no one, not a single person, gave up their seat. So I got up. You know, I’m only very tiny, after all. But what do they want from her? A “Watch out! Blind person!” badge?)
