I am the author of this story about my mother, who would touch my belly while I was having contractions. Here is another gem from that day.

The midwife and doctor have come in to break the news to me that there are some complications with my labor, and I’m not progressing fast enough to overcome the complications. They are explaining the need for me to have an emergency C-section to prevent serious harm to my child, and my mom jumps in on the discussion.

Mother: “But when will they get back to having sex if she has the C-section?”

Doctor: “Okay, then. Let’s get everyone else out of the room and leave this decision to the mother and father, shall we?”

Once everyone is cleared out, the doctor asks if we have any questions, but we don’t because the health and safety of my child matters more than anything at this point. But does it stop there? Oh, no…

During my recovery, my husband and child are whisked away to do the first bath, shots, etc. My mom, being the dramatic one that she is, decides that something is wrong because I’m not out of recovery instantly.

Mother: “Oh, my God, did she die on the table and no one told us?!”

She sees a nurse come out of the secure door for the surgery center.

Mother: *Accosting the nurse* “Where is my daughter? What has happened to her?!”

Nurse: “I’m sorry, I don’t know about your daughter’s case.”

My mother-in-law takes my mother firmly by the arm again and leads her back to the waiting room.

Mother-In-Law: “That’s okay, thank you for your time.”

Eventually, my mother harassed enough nurses — and started accusing them of lying when they DID say I was recovering just fine — that they had to take my husband away from our child to assure her that I wasn’t dead on the operating table.

I swore then that if I ever had any more children, she wouldn’t even be allowed within a hundred miles of me while I was in labor.

Related:
A Touching Moment Between Mother And Child

I am thirty-eight weeks pregnant and being induced due to having preeclampsia. Things are slow going, and the meds are barely making me have contractions, but the moment I start having one, my mom jumps up from her chair, places her hand on my belly, and begins cooing unhelpful phrases at me.

As time goes on, I get more and more irritated, but I keep my mouth shut for the sake of keeping the peace. Eventually, she shares this gem.

Mother: “I couldn’t stand people touching my belly when I was having contractions!”

My husband, noticing the angry glint in my eye, quickly pulls out the DVD player we brought and a copy of a movie he knew would be great as a decoy.

Husband: *To his mom* “Ma, why don’t you take [Mother] and watch this movie in the waiting room?”

Mother: “But I want to stay in here!”

[Mother-In-Law] understands the assignment and speaks sweetly while firmly grabbing my mother by the arm and directing her out of the room.

Mother-In-Law: “But you were telling me how you hadn’t seen this movie yet, and you really wanted to!”

Bless my husband and [Mother-In-Law]. The pregnancy didn’t progress quickly enough, and I ended up having a C-section, but my child was born healthy and happy, thankfully!

I work in a well-known bookstore. Our bookstore has a café attached to it that carries the products of a well-known coffee shop, including some pastries and baked goods. With the short staffing of our store, I have been dual-trained to work both café and bookfloor. While I have stories from both, this one from the café is the reason I try to avoid having to cover that area.

One day, my main barista is to go on a thirty-minute lunch break, and I am to be her coverage. She tells me it’s been fairly slow all evening, with only a few customers here and there. Perfect. Easy, right? You’d be wrong to think so. 

Twenty minutes later, just before my coworker is to come back, a little elderly woman comes up to the counter and smiles at me.

Elderly Woman: “I’d like a bagel, please.”

Me: “Of course. Would you like a plain bagel or an everything bagel?”

The elderly woman pauses and gives me this bewildered look. 

Elderly Woman: “A what?”

Thinking she didn’t hear me, I repeat it a little louder.

Me: “I asked if you’d like a plain bagel or an everything bagel.”

Elderly Woman: “I don’t know what that is.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Elderly Woman: “An everything bagel. I don’t know what that is.”

I describe the bagel to her while pointing at the one she’s never heard of in the display case.

Elderly Woman: “I still don’t know what it is.”

Me: “An everything bagel is a bagel with seeds on it. I can point it out to you again, but there’s not much else I can say about it. Would you like to try it?”

She is now starting to get upset.

Elderly Woman: “But I don’t know what it is!”

I’m starting to get frustrated. What does she expect me to do, walk out onto the bookfloor, find her an encyclopedia, and sit down with her to explain word by word what an everything bagel is? 

Me: “Ma’am, there’s nothing else I can say. I think it’ll be best for you to just get a plain bagel tonight.”

Elderly Woman: “Why can’t you just tell me what an everything bagel is?!”

Me: “Because I have tried. I have explained it in words, and I have shown you the bagel itself. It is simply another option for a flavor of bagel. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Elderly Woman: “Hmph. Well, you’re just insufferable, you know that?”

She toddles off angrily with her change and the receipt for her plain bagel.

Me: *Thinking to myself* “I’m not the old biddy who doesn’t know what an everything bagel is despite it being around longer than I’ve been.”

It was Christmas Eve, so all of the walk-in clinics and doctor’s offices were closed — everything but the emergency room. I had hurt myself at work and had to be that person who goes to the ER for a doctor’s note excusing me from my job until I could get the injury taken care of; there was no way I could work with it. I was left in the waiting room for quite a while while they took care of the more urgent cases, so my dad and I were people-watching. 

Most people were pretty calm and resigned to the purgatory that is the waiting room. That is, except for one gentleman, roughly thirty-five years of age, who would agitatedly stomp around the room before approaching the receptionist demanding she get him a bed. Each time, she politely directed him to take a seat. This happened a few more times before he finally gave a scream of frustration and stomped out of the ER.

His wife got up to follow him, stopped to apologize to the receptionist, and calmly announced:

Woman: “It’s my husband’s first time trying edibles. He’s not handling it so well.”

Then, she left to take him home.

Dad and I looked at each other and chuckled, and the quiet of the waiting room was uninterrupted again.

I am working at my desk in the nurses’ station of my clinic. My coworker has been on a call for quite some time — thirty-plus minutes — with what seems to be an aggressively chatty patient.

During this call, she makes the usual gestures of frustration at such a long phone call, but her voice never wavers. At one point, she makes hand gestures like shadow puppet dogs barking at each other, and then one of them comically “eats” the other. All of this is done without her breaking her tone of voice while talking.

When the call is over, she takes a moment to let out a small sigh, and then she turns to me.

Coworker: “Have you ever just gotten off the phone and wanted to scream, but you can’t because you’re in a public place?”