My job takes me to some interesting places.
Recently, I spent half a day with a homicide detective inside the top secret Toronto police property unit. It's this massive storage facility another reporter has termed the "Indiana Jones warehouse" because it seems straight out of the Raiders of the Lost Ark movie. There, police store seized weapons, seized marijuana, other nutty items seized during investigations and raids, such as patio furniture and bubble gum machines, and rows and rows and rows of boxes containing files from thousands of different crimes.
A Star photographer came to take pictures and asked me to mind one of his tripods. It was light, though a bit awkward. Still I had no problem carrying it around.
But every time someone saw it in my hand, they'd say "let me take that from you!"
There are big stairs leading to the Star's bureau at police headquarters on College St., where I work. I run up and down them every day. But if I'm hiking to the office with an officer or a colleague they look at me and say: "Poor thing. Is there an elevator for you?"
And when my husband and I sit down to dinner and I find myself with food envy, he doesn't say a bad word when I plunge my fork into a morsel on his plate. "Here," he says, happily shifting his food in my direction. "The baby likes this."
And in countless other situations - except on the subway, where I have yet to be offered a seat by anyone - people go out of their way to be kind and courteous to this pregnant woman.
This makes me wonder: What is it going to be like after I give birth? Will people cease to be nice and polite?
It's amazing how responsible others feel for the well-being of an expectant mom. At the same time, in my life before Lentil, I don't remember feeling that warm and fuzzy about the general public.
I'll just enjoy the little perks of pregnancy while they last, I suppose. There are few of them! All too soon, I'll be that woman wheeling a massive stroller into a restaurant only to be sneered at.