Thank you for commenting on how big I am.
Yes, I know I look pregnant. That kinda happens when one has another human being occupying a tiny space in my abdomen and crowding out all my organs.
Yes, I know I look REALLY pregnant, but no, I'm not due for another 10 weeks.
Yes, I know I look big. My mom showed early and big too with all six of us kids, so I was kind of expecting this. (haha, expecting. Sorry. I'm writing this without my morning cuppa tea.)
But I REALLY don't want to hear any comments about my weight. You don't tell other people how big they look, do you? Pregnancy changes nothing about conversational etiquette. There's soooo many articles and blog posts about what NOT to say to a pregnant woman (like this one from Jenna, and this one from Julia) but I can tell you're not concerned with politeness.
It's like how personal space rules doesn't change either--no, the belly doesn't stick out beyond the "personal space," the personal space GROWS with the belly. So no touchy. Noooo touchy.
At my 28 week visit, I learned I had gained 10 lbs. At my prior 24 week visit, I had gained 8 lbs. I have a 30 week visit this morning, and I'm cringing at the thought of how much weight I've probably gained. So YOU'RE NOT HELPING.
I'm pretty easygoing about stupid comments, usually. You have to be when you work in a public service job. People usually mean well, and other people are born without filters. It makes for great jokes later. "Did you hear what one of my customers said to me the other day?"
It all began when I was about 5 months along on the Green Line when this grandmother with her five rambunctious grandkids saw me waiting to get off the train, and said, "So, you 'bout to drop?" No, I'm only 5 months along. Due February. "You having twins?" Nope. A singleton. (Cue incredulous looks.)
That was kinda funny the first time.
But on the 271st time, it's starting to get REALLY annoying. Like, "I want a glass of wine (and dammit, I can't!") annoying. Except now I'm worrying about calorie consumption of my sparking grape juice that I have as a treat/substitute. And I want chocolate, but that's calories, too. Dammitall.
So, world, from now on when you comment on how pregnant I look, I'll comment on how retirement must be going to your gut. Or how your office job is redistributing your weight to your gut and butt. And when you ask me if I'm due any day now, I'll ask you the same thing. When you touch my belly without permission or invitation, I'm touching yours.
And no, it's not twins.
Filed under: pregnancy