Why Is Pregnancy Congratulated and Motherhood Ignored?

Suddenly in the last couple of weeks, my pregnancy has been embraced by the world at large.

Waitresses, store staff and random female strangers are all now commenting on my belly, wishing me luck and basically cheering me on.

For some reason, the only men who rally my bump are homeless dudes, which is sort of sweet and also sort of sad. Usually because I start to imagine a time when the homeless dude was just a regular dude trying to get by, with a girlfriend and a baby.

Then I realize something had to happen for him to make the leap to the street so I start wondering about the girlfriend and how maybe he didn't treat her so well when he got drunk and then I think about the odds of his baby making its way out of a cycle of poverty and substance abuse and I get depressed and sort of angry at the homeless dude because he's high and happy and hooting at me "Hey Congrats!" and meanwhile his offspring is rolling dubes behind her grade seven mold-ridden portable, begrudging her single mom while devising lists of high school boys she can fellate. Sigh.

Anyway, while my body is feeling the extra 35 pounds and the pressure against my organs mount, the general attitude of festivity has been appreciated. I like repeating my due date a dozen times a day because, frankly, it's all I'm thinking about.

But as the number of supportive strangers increases, so does my bafflement with social attitudes towards motherhood. Why is it that we cheer on women in their third trimester but huff with annoyance when we have to step around an exhausted new mom and her stroller?

As far as I know, women don't rush up to mothers and pat them on the back and say, "What you do is amazing. Congratulations!"

From what I've seen, new moms are basically invisible, while their squirming, time-consuming, pooping, barfing, crying babes are the ones who garner all the praise.

Which means I have 6 weeks to suck in all the attention and sympathy and well-wishes that I can. Because after that, the hard work begins and, until my kid can thank me in his valedictorian speech (after earnestly musing that high school was the 'best years of our lives,' hrmph) it's pretty much a thankless job.