Usually, I am the only pregnant woman around. This means at even given moment, out in public, I’m the only visible woman pregnant in the near vicinity. People have started to stare.

On the rare occasions that I am around another pregnant woman, it really is like we’re secretly high-fiving ourselves into a secret club. As an empathetic person by nature, I immediately fall into some sort of question and answer session. However, this wasn’t really kicked off until the sub for Wednesday’s prenatal class was 1/2 hour late. 10 of us, all at various stages of pregnancy, sat in the stairwell of the yoga center and waited. We kicked around the usual questions (everyone, pregnant or not, wants to know when you are due and if it is a boy or a girl). Then the questions got more personal; some started talking about midwives, obstetrics, and the merits of home birth–which made one woman next to me cringe (“I would never do home birth,”she whispered. “My first birth was so messy”). Because the studio is located on Rainier Ave. a car vibrated by with teeth chattering bass. “Is anyone else’s baby moving?” I asked. “Your baby is bumpin it!” One sassy pregnant Asian lady from Beacon Hill shouted. The sub finally showed up, didn’t have keys to the studio, and asked if we wanted to do yoga in the park. Out of the 10 of us, 10 agreed.

So, then you have to imagine 10 pregnant ladies walking down Rainier Avenue in Columbia City during rush hour. One woman was four days from her due date and hoping the yoga would jump start labor. She huffed and puffed across the street. Three of us ended up in the restroom at the public library before joining the others. We sat in a large, hippie circle, surrounded by clover. The traffic was merciless as it raced by, the sounds of the Farmer’s market festive, a pack of kids loitered and watched on a picnic table (you know you’re in Seattle when a bunch of 7 year olds recognize and use the word ‘yoga’). We breathed, stretched, and downward dogged our way through a full hour. People stared, birds called, cars slowed down; I noticed that the mothers walking by, their arms filled with farmer’s market produce, smiled.

The sub was continually apologetic about the wet grass, about the noise, about not having props. But none of the students cared. It’s cheesy, really, but all that mattered was that we were stretched, sore, puffy, and with child…together.