I’m not much of a “mommy blogger.” Rather, I never intended to be. As much as I appreciate their in depth side-by-side comparisons of every car seat on the market, I am just not that gal. Admittedly, though, my posts have become baby and pregnancy-centric because I have always written my “truth” and, well, right now my truth looks a lot like hemorrhoid cream and onesie folding.
I’ve always thought (and still do, mostly) that pregnancy is one of the most beautiful things in the world. Kate Middleton wore it glamorously, with her perfectly rounded and petite bump, exuding that elusive with-child glow people are always talking about. When I found out I was pregnant, I was 3 weeks along, and already swooning over the idea that I soon would have my own Kate Middleton-esque bump. One of my mom’s best friends put it in the best of perspective for me: “It’s the greatest thing in the world, trust me, but don’t be ashamed or guilty if you’re not always psyched about what’s happening to your body.”
8 months later, I know what she meant. Pregnancy is natural and beautiful and incredible but it’s also hard and not always tidy and glamorous. Sometimes, it means sobbing on the floor of your closet because your well-intended husband (Bless that man) bought you a garment that resembles more of a tent than it does a dress. Sometimes it means stretch marks that you know might never leave. This is all to be expected, or course. What I never expected was that your body becomes public domain the second you have a bump.
I know people are rude. Hell, I’ve lived in New York and ridden the subway. I thought I had seen and heard the worst. oh, no no.
“Are you sure you’re not having twins?”
“You’re awfully big for 8 months.” “Maybe they miscalculated your due date.”
“How much weight have you gained?”
“You look a little young. How old are you, exactly?”
“Are you sure you should be doing/eating/drinking that?”
“Don’t you mean decaf?”
“You got so big! I mean, wow!”
HONESTLY. I guess because I look like I swallowed a watermelon people feel inclined to comment? So, as a public service announcement to people everywhere, a pregnant woman is as vulnerable to sensitivity as any other woman, only tenfold. You might mean that, on my small frame, this belly seems big. I get it, logically, but all I hear is “Geez, you got FAT.”
Point being: Even though I now exist for this tiny human I am carrying, I’m still a person. I still have insecurities and worry that even though I have gained the recommended weight for pregnant women, that I may appear heavy. I still have a husband I like to impress and jeans I aspire to once more fit into. So get your hands off my belly, keep your opinions to yourself, and POUR ME A CUP OF REGULAR DAMN COFFEE.
*sidebar: Before any of you call Child Services, know that I have been advised by my doctor that it’s perfectly okay to have a small cup of coffee, daily. It’s also a service to humanity, because without it, I might become dangerous.