While my colleagues might come across as conservative bankers, it should be noted that they all share a particular fondness for gambling. When the state jackpot is high enough, it’s not uncommon for a secretary to come around collecting contributions for a group effort to win. “Just think, Jill, we could all retire,” they tell me.
I tease my colleagues when they come collecting and such, but I don’t really participate in this custom; however, I am unwittingly a key player in the current pool – or rather my pending child is. The winning player will have made the most accurate guesses on the following variables: birth date, birth measurements, and gender. (And no, we do not know the gender. We are waiting to be surprised, and I’m loving the suspense! Also, I'm hoping that not knowing will save me from getting overly gender-specific gifts. Selfish, yes, but practical. I refuse to put a "little slugger" tee on a son or to dress a daughter exclusively in ruffles and various shades of pastels. Sue me.)
Anyway, the pool has slowly made its way around the office (to all 50 of us here in this unit). So now, my days are routinely interrupted with people coming to ask seemingly random questions:
- So...are you measuring big or small?
- When exactly is your due date? Were you early/late?
- What do YOU think you’re having?
- Were you/Kenny “big” babies?
- Any contractions or complications so far?
Etc, etc. I must say, awkward as they may be, I prefer the questions to the uncomfortable stares I get from people analyzing the size of my growing waistline. (Keep in mind, I work with primarly male bankers.) They are all into it. All I’m going to say is that whoever wins better at least give me a 50/50 cut of the winnings.
I am the one doing all the real work after all.