“You’re really starting to look fat!”
In what world, I ask you, is the aforementioned comment okay? You would have thought, “Nowhere,” right? Wrong. Apparently, said comment is completely kosher in the World of the Pregnant Woman.
As I’ve noted numerous times, yes, currently, there is a little girl-in-progress inhabiting my midsection, and I’m delighted about it. And, this being almost 31 weeks into the pregnancy, said midsection is expanding. As it should, by the way–there’s a human being in there! Kid needs some elbow room!
So I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m usually a small person (5’2), or if people I don’t even know harbor ill-feelings toward me, but I seem to trigger a bizarre case of Tourrette’s in many people I run into in the course of my day. These people feel the need to inform me that I am pregnant, first of all (who knew??), but also to do it in a way that seems to be more about incredulity at my size and less about taking into account that there is a person attached to this belly who may not relish random remarks about her girth.
I remember, back in the long-ago day when I wasn’t pregnant, when the way I looked could go without comment from strangers…and if people did comment, it would be to say something nice. If you’re not pregnant, you probably don’t appreciate this, but maybe you should. If you’re not pregnant, I implore you, take the time to wander through a supermarket, a mall or some other thoroughfare and just think about how people interact with you. Relish the fact that, unless they are saying something complimentary (“You look terrific!”), for the most part, no one is commenting on your body (perhaps construction workers excepted). Oh, also go and buy yourself a nice, normal pair of pants or sundress that doesn’t look like a muu muu. Because you can!
Things are different for us preggos. In the course of my average day, I get at least four comments about my appearance, from totally random people whose opinions I’m not sure I’d actively solicit in regular life. Now, don’t get me wrong, I get it–I’m a short girl with a big belly. You notice me. You don’t want to go through a revolving door with me. Comprende. Read the rest of this entry →