welcome, fetus!

My aunt emailed the following:

Just a short message to tell you the exciting news: Dan and Bobbi and going to have another baby! The due date is July 1. We're all crazy with joy. Love, Lil

I sat down to write the usual exclamation in return: Congratulations! That's what people say in this situation, am I right? Congratulations! That's wonderful!

As a three-time fetal incubator, I have heard plenty of Congratulations! myself. But I always wondered grumpily: what the hell are these fools congratulating me for? All I did was have unprotected sex and then go about my business. Meanwhile, somewhere inside of me a sperm and an egg decided to make a zygote of themselves. I can hardly take credit for that.

Congratulations! implies that one has done a good job or emerged victorious from a struggle or won a prize. The winning team that gave their all, the woman who got the big promotion, the student with the A-plus, all deserve congratulations. But do I deserve congratulations for having had sex? Is zygote-making a difficult and praiseworthy accomplishment?

(It would be praiseworthy if I'd done the deed by putting a sperm and an egg together in a sterile dish in my home Fertilo-Lab, then carefully edging them toward eachother with delicate instruments, slowly, slowly, with great patience, until I finally got them to merge. But, y'know, I actually didn't do that.)

I have a dark suspicion that Congratulations! reflects the ancient idea that a woman is a useless husk unless her womb grows some sort of fruit (the male sort, historically). The congratulater assumes that the pregnant woman has achieved something she values greatly: namely, a victory over barrenness. I imagine that when Sarah of the Old Testament finally conceived a child after some ninety years of desperate trying, her handmaidens showered her with congratulations. Whoo-hoo, Sarah, you did it at last! You've finally become worthy of the life God gave you and the roof Abraham has put over your head all these years. You've prayed enough, been patient enough, and stood on your head after coitus enough, to make God bless your ancient, shriveled uterus with a thriving fetus. Congratulations; you've earned it!

Yeah, well. Times have changed.

There's another possible explanation for Congratulations! -- it might be meant to imply moral victory. As in, Congratulations -- you've made the right choice to come over from the dark side! After all these years of thinking your career mattered; after all these years of being too selfish to do your womanly job, congratulations on throwing in your lot with the rest of the mama herd.

(You see, for a while there, all us other mothers were nervous that we'd made the wrong choice. We watched you climb the ladder of success and go out dancing every night and pluck the stars from the sky to adorn your hair, while we were home burping the tots. We chewed our nails and tried not to remember that we had once loved to dance, too. But now you've converted, proving for all time that we made the right choice -- since even women who temporarily claim not to need babies, eventually realize their error and come around. So, congratulations on doing what you should have done years ago -- and now let's make catty comments about all those selfish, perky-breasted females who think they're too damn good to have stretch marks like the rest of us!)

Even more obnoxious than the fatuous congratuations given to the pregnant woman, are the fatuous congratulations given to the expectant father. What is the meaning there? Congratulations, your sperm can swim! Congratulations, you knocked her up like a real stud! Congratulations, you suckered her into doing all the gestating for you -- that oughta keep her home where she belongs. Or is it, Congratulations, you'll finally have a son and heir to carry on the family name and help on the farm!

Furthermore, why should I congratulate my aunt, of all people, on the impending birth of a long-desired second grandchild? Congratulations, you got what you wanted out of your son and daughter-in-law. You must have mounted a successful campaign of hints, complaints, and sighs until you wore them down. Good job!


In the end I wrote back the only thing that I could stomach.

Hey Lil,
If Dan and Bobbi and you are so happy, then I'm happy for ya! I hope the little-one-to-be experiences smooth sailing for the next eighty-plus years.

Somehow that seems like a bit of a downer. I'm pretty sure I was supposed to just say congratulations and pretend that every pregnancy is a fabulous accomplishment which brings nothing but joy forever.

I couldn't do that, though. After all, I'm a mother three times over. And a lousy liar.