Give a pregnant lady a seat, you a-holes!

Give a pregnant lady a seat, you a-holes!

[Ed. – When you put it so sweetly, who could resist?]

Like some six million other New Yorkers, I ride the subway every day. But now that I’m pregnant I’ve had to change up my routine just a bit.

I smile and position my body where I know the train doors will stop so that I can slide into the car before everyone else. Once in, my movements are exaggerated, sometimes because they can’t help but be when carrying around a watermelon-sized fetus. But even on good days, I purposely keep the dramatic waddle and place a hand on my lower back, hoping it might make me that much more noticeable to the powerful, the privileged, the seated.

Nothing.

No one budges or dares to look up. I softly sigh and desperately try to make eye contact with the other humans on my train. I position myself in the middle of the car where the largest number of eyes have the greatest chance of running into my form.

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