I might just be the worst blogger, ever. There is a reason for that, and I might get around to explaining it soon. Or ever.
Anyway, I was recently reminded of one of the most ridiculous experiences of my life. I wasn’t writing a blog during this particularly devastating event, so I have decided to regale you with the tale, now.
If you ask me if pregnancy will get you out of jury duty, I will laugh. It’ll be a bitter, hollow, almost hysterical laugh, but a laugh it will be.
Why? Because I received my jury duty summons six weeks before my due date with E. My report date for this hallowed American tradition? 2 weeks before my due date. That’s right, folks, I was 9 months pregnant the morning I walked into the courthouse of my home-county. I had asked everyone under the sun what to expect–everyone, including my nurse practioner (who signed a form that stated how far along I was, but reminded me that she legally couldn’t say I couldn’t sit medically), told me that there was no way they were ever going to chance sitting someone in the jury who could fly into labor at any moment. I called the courthouse and asked them what to expect if I deferred–they told me they would have me come in 6 weeks later, where I would have to chance them accepting me on a jury breastfeeding and moving 2 weeks later.
Awesome.
So, I went. Fully prepared to be turned away, my fellow jurors staring longingly at my belly and saying “man, I wish I was pregnant.” I was confident life would be back to normal by the end of the day.
Boy, was I wrong.
At one point during the selection process, they asked if we had any reason we felt we couldn’t sit on the jury. Most people answered “I don’t want to miss work.” I said, “I could go into labor at any moment.”
BAM! Jury duty. On a murder trial.
I think I cried…. Hysterically, maybe. And then I went into labor and delivery because I was fairly certain my water was leaking. When I left L&D at 2 am that night, it was with a prescription for an infection and a letter to the judge stating that I had to be reclined during the day, I had to be given a chance to walk at least once an hour, and I needed to be given a bathroom break as often as I needed. I had to have water available, and snacks. I had a glimmer of hope that maybe the judge would look at the list of requirements and decide that it was too big a hassle, and send me home.
Instead, she sent for a stool, a pillow, and told me I should wave any time I needed anything. And then she explained that she had never had a woman even close to my gestational age in her courtroom, and she didn’t know what the hell the lawyers were thinking, but legally she couldn’t tell them they couldn’t have me on the panel.
It was a terrible experience. Interesting, yes. But awful. How can a murder case be anything but? On top of that, I missed a week of work, came back for a day and a half, and then left again on maternity leave. My poor students were like “awrkgjdlsg?!” Sorry, guys.
I’m still a little pissed that the wee beast didn’t just make her appearance in the middle of the trial. Instead, all she managed was to give me some nose bleeds (never had any until jury duty), and contractions that refused to come close enough together to justify standing up and screaming “OMG, I’M HAVING A BABY!”
Oh, well.
But, less this serve as a lesson to you: The law doesn’t care if you are going to pop a baby out in 5 months or in 5 minutes. It will get you. And it will make you cry.
