On the A train

Photographs: Imogen Brown

COMMUTING

With no time to get knocked up for real, a Santa belly under a stretchy Betsey Johnson dress created an about-to-pop look, enabling us to find out just how protective New Yorkers are of pregnant women. On a packed A train, Mark, 33, offered his seat within seconds. Though slow to crack a smile, this do-gooder has a warm heart. “Ever since I was a kid, I do one good deed a day,” he said. “Yesterday, I gave somebody a dollar.” And today he relieved some hypothetically swollen ankles.

The M14 bus was a little more harrowing than the underground ride. Several seated people eyed the big ol’ belly and looked away, while Alfonso, 39, didn’t glance up from his book, Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father. When I asked Alfonso why he didn’t stand for a pregnant rider, he sheepishly admitted that he didn’t want to give up his seat. “I was in the middle of a good chapter,” he said. Hey, Obama’s “Yes we can” motto goes for manners, too!

SMOKING

Outside Port Authority

“May I have a cigarette?” I asked Mary, 43, outside of the New York Times Building. “Sure, have two!” she said enthusiastically as she handed over a couple of Salems. We chatted, and I found out Mary didn’t have kids, but she—along with ten other smokers on the street—was happy to share a ciggie with my pregnant self. Who says New Yorkers aren’t generous? Only a homeless man refused: “You about to pop! Damn, you got a baby!” said Bob, 36. “I can’t give you a cigarette.” A voice of reason!

Near Port Authority, Hameen, 24, proffered both a cigarette and a light. Bystanders did look askance as I coughed up a storm. “I thought you were crazy, but to each his own,” said Hameen when I confronted him about his careless enabling. “Who am I to judge you for you living your life the way you choose to live it? It says on the cigarette pack that it’s harmful for pregnant woman.” He has a point.

DRINKING

Port 41

Parched from all the smoking, I waddled over to Port 41 (355 W 41st St between Eighth and Ninth Aves, 212-947-1188) to order vodka on the rocks. Bartender Caitlin, 26, promptly refused my cocktail request until I admitted to being undercover. “You don’t even know what I’ve seen here,” she sighed. “When I started working here I thought, Oh my God, I hope my soul stays with me when I’m done working here.” I’m not the first big-bellied patron she’s encountered—she once had a woman five months along come in. “I had to argue with her to get the fuck outta here!” Caitlin said.

Over at nearby Dave’s Tavern (574 Ninth Ave at 42nd St, 212-244-4408), I chatted up cuties Brooks, 23, and Loic, 24. “Can one of you guys get me a glass of wine?” I sweetly asked. “Um, we can buy you a glass of…water?” offered the French Loic (below) in a sexy accent. His Atlanta-born buddy claimed he didn’t notice my “condition,” however. “If a girl approaches you at a bar, you don’t look at her body?” I asked. “Most guys do but that’s not what I do,” Brooks said. Such a Southern gentleman.