(and other things best avoided in dialogue directed at a pregnant woman.)
You’re pregnant. You’ve spent the better part of the morning going through your wardrobe trying to find something to wear, hurling pants and tops over your shoulder and onto the floor. You then spend ten minutes trying to reach the floor to pick up said items thrown in fit of rage. You examine your backside and wonder momentarily whether the baby is in fact in front of you, or behind you…
You finally find something acceptable – by acceptable I mean the skin of your stomach isn’t showing (much) and your bottom isn’t flaunting the love heart pattern of your knickers through the fabric of your pants which are stretched too tight (much). You carefully select a pair of shoes and ever so delicately balance yourself on one foot, bending the other leg up behind you and attempt to flick the shoe over your toes. Your other children drag on your leg in an attempt to “help”. You finally get your shoes on. You bribe your kids into picking up what is left of the debris on the floor. You brush your hair and straighten yourself out. Yes, you think, I’m ok, I may not be able to see or reach my feet, but I’m clothed and shoed and brushed: today is a good day! You smile at your glowing self in the mirror and run a hand over your blossoming stomach.
Throughout the course of your day you pop into the shops. The lady at the cash register gives you a pitying smile, “Much longer to go darl?” she asks. “Oh, about three months,” you reply. Her jaw drops, “Three months?! Geez…” Her raised eyebrows say it all.
You pull yourself together and bump into a friend of a friend in the street. “Wow, you’re massive!” They say as a greeting, laughing.
A little further along you decide to grab some fruit and veg quickly before heading home. “How many weeks now?” the grocer asks. “About 28…” you say hesitantly (rounding up). “Gosh…” (awkward glance at your stomach) “You’ve got a way to go then…”
You start to wonder about your outfit choice that day and try to suck your stomach in as you walk to your car (to no avail). You catch sight of yourself in a shop window and get a bit of a fright.
You’re nearing your car when a fellow kinder mum bounces past in her gym gear. She looks at your tummy. Please don’t, you think, please, please! “Oh look at you!” she smiles, “Imagine how big you’re going to be by the end of all this!” (Laughs heartily). “Yeah, imagine that…” you reply with a pasted on smile.
You get home and kick off your shoes. Your father in law knocks on the door. “Hi Fatty!” he says with affection. You glare at him: “Hi.” “Bad day? You look like shit.”
Moral of the story: We’re pregnant, we know we are growing: our clothes don’t fit us anymore and we can’t reach our feet, also – there is another human inside of us which we are quite aware of. Please, next time you see a pregnant woman, no matter how huge or massive or gigantic they might appear, a simple “You look great!” could go a long way in drowning out the many other (albeit well-meaning) comments on her physical appearance she has no doubt already received that day.
Rant over 😉 xxx
P.S. Oh, almost forgot my favourite: “Are you sure there aren’t two in there?!” Laughs, laughs! Oh, the hilarity…