When I was pregnant with Sasha, we lived in New Haven, CT. During a visit of the maternity ward at the local Yale Hospital, the matron who took my husband and myself around together with the other couples, turned to me and asked: "Where're you coming from?" After answering this question for a hundred times before, without thinking and on auto-pilot, I replied "Originally I'm coming from Russia", and immediately realised that she meant which part of New Haven we'd be travelling from to the hospital. I felt awfully discomfited by my mistake, as the others were openly giggling.
My cringe story from the second pregnancy made it into Mother & Baby magazine as a Star letter a couple of years ago. They published it under the title "Kicking off":
"When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy, I went to the supermarket to pick up some food. While I was queueing up to pay, my baby started kicking really hard inside my tummy. "Don't kick me please", I said softly, touching my bump to soothe him. But apparently I didn't say it quietly enough, as the man behind me looked put out and said "I didn't, thanks". Cringe!"
This little anecdote has won us a pushchair which we are still using, though mostly as a groceries' carrier nowadays, as Eddie refuses to sit in and wants to walk with me.
When Sasha was about 4 years old, and we just moved house, we were looking for the new tiles for the bathroom. Admiring the travertine tiles on display, I didn't see how Sasha pulled his pants down and sat on the nearby display of the toilet. Luckily we managed to catch him in time. We made a hasty retreat from the shop in search of the nearby loo.
When Eddie was about a year old, he used to call all men Papa. I confess I found it very embarrassing that he greeted every man: a postie, a courier, an electrician with a cheerful utterance of delight: "Papa!".
Do you dare to share your embarrassing stories?