Jan 15, 2014 4 min read

When I told my mother that I had downloaded a pregnancy app to my phone, she laughed at me.

I don’t blame her, but I’m a product of my generation. Apps, message boards and witty pregnancy blogs are the favorite pastimes of many excitable, modern, first-time parents.

Of the nonstop surprises inherent in a first pregnancy are the outlandish, odd and ridiculous comments available for your “education” both on these online resources and from the mouths of real human beings.

Let us begin with the well-meaning but misguided “by men, for men” lists of pregnancy advice.

Not only can you find highly inaccurate information in these rundowns, but you might also find the sentiments of our society’s remaining knuckle-dragging, skeptical, selfish and drastically unaware male specimens.

For just one example, I quote, “Lamaze is to childbirth what yoga is to football. Do it anyway.”

First, enlightened sir, judging by your shoddy analogy, I can only assume that your postsecondary school did not require the SAT.

Second, from your lack of interest in classes that will help you to help your wife birth the child for which you are 50 percent responsible, you must already be well-versed in the topic. In that case, I’d love to discuss the hospital bag you’ve already assembled full of brand new tennis balls, Penny Simpkin books, a rebozo and the relaxing playlist made from you-to-her queued on your iPhone.

Oh, you have no idea what I’m talking about?

You’re right. “Do it anyway.”

On to the apps.

With each passing week, pregnancy apps by the fistful are happy to offer a fruit or vegetable which approximates the size of your little organ puncher. You might think that announcements to your family might go something like, “Oh yes, little so-and-so is an orange this week,” while everyone oohs and ahhs.

Yeah, sometimes, but more often than you’d think, your family had better be full-on Food Network-obsessed foodies in order to comprehend the flora to which these apps often compare your baby.

Durian fruit, anyone? Jicama?

The comparisons become decidedly less fun when they require a book on the fruits of southeast Asia and an episode of “Bizarre Foods America” with Andrew Zimmern.

“He’s a jicama this week, Dad!” (Crickets.)

Maybe these complaints aren’t really complaints at all. I learned about a few new fruits, and my husband and I had many good humored exchanges about the man-to-man advice lists. No harm (in our case, anyway), and everyone had a good time.

This last one legitimately ruffles my hormone-marinated feathers.

When I got engaged, I couldn’t wait to jump on The Knot and welcome the flurry of advertisements referring to me as “The Bride.”

When I saw the two pink lines, I was chomping at the bit to tell the entire world. I would have worn a T-shirt announcing the news or hired a skywriter.

So maybe I didn’t go that far. When the topic did come up, however, I was inevitably asked how far along I was. Proudly, I’d announce the number of weeks – eight, 12, whatever it was – only to be met with the following most-irksome comment at least a handful of times, “Oh, you’re still early.”

This may shock you, Keeper of Pregnancy Legitimacy, but there aren’t, in fact, degrees of pregnant.

There is pregnant or not pregnant; two pink lines or one; a reason to forego your favorite red wine or not. Being “only” eight weeks pregnant didn’t lessen the frequency with which I had to urinate; fish was no more appetizing, and, most importantly, I was no less excited.

That’s right, many of those expecting babies are spending nearly every waking moment obsessing about doing what is best for their bodies and details of the nursery. We want you to ask 52 questions, but we really want you to answer with, “That’s wonderful,” not some off-the-cuff comment that almost seeks to diminish our good news.

Where does the etiquette of otherwise polite people go when they are addressing a pregnant woman or couple? Unless you are a woman’s obstetric care provider, she is neither too big nor too small; her choice in healthcare provider is just right; and, while your experiences are valuable, her birth will not happen just as yours did.

Here it is, my small addition to the world of gestational wit and pregnant observations.

May normal standards of politeness and durian fruit be with you.

Abigail Mackey is a registered nurse. For more quips and tips, refer to her blog, “The Written Remedy” (thewrittenremedy.blogspot.com). Abby can be reached at amackrn23@gmail.com or on Twitter at @AbigailMackeyRN.