Don’t Pet Me

To all my future moms, congrats on making your bulging belly the topic of conversation for the next 9 months. Oh you didn’t know? Surprise!!

Everyone likes to talk about the pretty side of pregnancy. You know, the long, flowing hair; glowing skin, eating for two, miracle of growing life, that first ultrasound, the first heartbeat, the pampering, the heavens parting and the angel’s chorus. Then you have the baby and you’re supposed to be Mary Poppins or some shit.

Well lets back up to the pregnancy portion. No one warned me of the realness. No one told me about the lack of personal boundaries that you all of a sudden have. It’s like my private decision had a public response and now I’m privy to the ramblings of the peanut gallery. Basically, the general public now treat you the same way some dudes treat you at the club. Ladies, you know what I mean. At a bar or club, all of a sudden it becomes ok to be touched by random strangers, be asked probing questions about your personal life, or comment on your body. All things that in a normal everyday situation wouldn’t be done. That’s what being pregnant and going out anywhere with people is like.

For an introvert, like myself, it’s especially cringey. I say people because said behavior is not limited to strangers, my friends and family are guilty of it too. The sad part is they don’t think they’re being cringey or intrusive. Like I said this was my personal choice and should not make my private life an open book. I get the whole congratulating me on the baby, that’s cool… You know, assuming it was on purpose. But, if we aren’t cool like that, that should be as far as it goes. Since when is a pregnant belly an automatic conversation starter? Maybe I just want to go get some groceries without having to explain my family dynamic to a total stranger.

“Yes this is my first child and plastic not paper please.”

Just think of how weird it would be if I randomly went up to women and asked them how many kids they had, their genders and names. Red Flag, anyone? You’d probably think I’m out to kidnap them or something. Nope, just curious: I saw you buying juice boxes and assumed it was ok to ask. Or, better yet, when someone gets married and we see the ring do we get to ask things like,

“Oh is this your first marriage?”

“Are you marrying a boy or a girl?”

“What’s their name?”

No, because it’s not our business and it’s weird.

Whether it’s a question on my condition or a comment on my appearance, every time I leave the house, someone says something:

“How far along are you?… Oh you’re 6 months you don’t look that big.”

Gee thanks Sally, tell me how small I feel when I can’t put my shoes on without breathing heavy.

“Oh my you’re expecting!? Well you hide it well.”

No, Susan, I’m not hiding it: I’m wearing my husband’s shirt because I discovered this morning that none of my shirts fit me anymore.

Or my personal favorite….

“Oh you’re not pregnant, you’re just eating good…”

I’m trying desperately to embrace my changing body. I have my good days and my bad days. I’m constantly conscious of my size every moment of every day. I even had to buy a new couch because I couldn’t get off the old one without assistance. So please remind me of my size while you’re calling me fat.

Then there is the touching. My husband touching my belly whenever, cool. It’s his kid, he did contribute to my current situation, but that’s about as far as it goes. If you’re not him, maybe you should ask. When you get married, do people randomly grab your hand and stroke your ring? No they ask to see it. So why are you just gonna rub my belly? Since I’m pregnant did I all of a sudden get a touch me sign?

Before I was pregnant, I didn’t like to be touched. Most of the people who know me, know this. I’m not a hugger: hugs are reserved for family and friends I haven’t seen in a while. Other than that, get out of my bubble. Now my belly is like a hand magnet, and it makes me want to break people’s wrists. The funny thing is that they don’t even ask: if they do say something, it’s after the fact. It’s all “Oh my god, I just had to touch it.” Well when I grab your wrists and tweak it back, I’ll give you the same, “Oh my god, I just had to.” That makes it all ok, right? Now its assault and you’re looking at me crazy because I didn’t want to be touched.

It’s like my body isn’t even my own. I don’t dictate when I have to pee, eat, and sleep, and now, apparently, when people touch me. Don’t get me wrong: I love my baby and I can’t wait to meet him. Granted, he has subjected me to the motor skills and the emotional stability of a toddler. You know what I mean: the possible peeing yourself, puking, balance issues, and uncontrolled emotional outbursts. But me being pregnant doesn’t change my feelings on the general public. Yes I’m creating a life right now, but it didn’t magically turn me into this people loving, nurturing being. I’m still relatively the same person, so please address me when you talk to me not just my belly. He’s not going to respond. If he does, he’ll probably mosh pit on my insides. I’m pretty sure he takes after his father in that respect.

With all of that I think my most baffling experience happened to me at the airport. Now keep in mind that black don’t crack.

So I was at the airport, traveling by myself to see my sister in law. I’m sitting there, minding my own business, reading a book with my headphones in. Granted I wasn’t listening to music, I just sometimes use them as people blockers to avoid awkward small talk. Across from me were these two middle aged, upper middle class white women.

Well I guess they assumed, among many other things, that I couldn’t hear them, because I became the topic of their conversation. This conversation went to the tune of…

It’s a shame the increase in pregnant teens these days, especially among minorities. Something about me probably not fully understanding the consequences of my actions. Something else about the difficulties of being a single mom and raising a child without a father.

Now there is nothing wrong being a single mom and raising a child by yourself that was not my issue with their conversation. My issue was, would I be the topic of their miserable conversation if I weren’t pregnant? Probably not.

So here’s some advice before you start asking intrusive questions. Stop and think “Is this any of my business?” and before you reach out and rub a belly without permission how about ask first. Cause I’m about to start flipping the script and its one for one in this beast.

You get a question “How far along are you?”

I get a question “How strong is your man’s pull out game?”

You rub my belly I get to rub yours. I’m not about to be the only one cringing.