on having a belly

Scrubs are the great figure-forgivers of workplace fashion, and I wear scrubs. A lot. In fact, when I'm at work, a lot of the time the only things that actually give away my maternity state are my pregnant poses - you know, the arching torso with the hands at the lower back, the subconscious self-rubbing of the belly, etc. One coworker recently asked me, after finding out that I was already 22 weeks along (she thought it was much less), where EXACTLY was I carrying this baby, and I have to smile a little when I hear that, because it's the sort of question I expect skinny pregnant women to get ("you're so little!") and not someone with, er, extra padding to start.

But I do occasionally venture out into the world wearing something other than scrubs and pajamas, and since I really can't fit into normal clothes anymore, I'm always swathed in maternity gear: the stretchy-paneled pants, the generously-cut tops. You know, the clothes designed to highlight one thing only: the Belly. And even having Crouching Diaper, Hidden Fetus in there (seriously - we might want to name this kid Jet Li or something), I still forget how out there my stomach is sticking out in belly-highlighting maternity wear, until one inevitable moment happens.

You moms know EXACTLY what that moment is: the RUB.

I'll say it (and probably garner hate mail in the process): I can't stand it when people rub my belly. It startles me, especially since most of the time, the hand is on the belly without anyone asking if it's okay. I don't hold any bad feelings against the excited Belly Toucher, no. I understand the sentiment: they're excited for me, babies are cute, mommy bellies are cute too, yada yada yada. There is just something about a pregnant belly that invites touch from everyone from your spouse (totally okay and welcome) to total strangers in the supermarket (uh, NOT okay). I get it, I really do.

I still don't like it. Even from people I know pretty well.

I actually really want to like it. I want to be one of those happy, Buddha-bellied gals you see on the cover of Parenting and Fit Pregnancy magazines, endlessly offering out my tummy to others like a lucky talisman, telling the world, "You know, I just feel so BLESSED all the time" with sincere head-nodding and rapt wonderment at the Life Inside of Me. Uh-HUH. Magazine covers are just as unrealistic for pregnant girls as Cosmo is for the rest of the unpregnant world...

(Side note: I would probably buy a lifetime subscription to a pregnancy magazine that had a real cover model: mismatched sweats, cankles propped up, bags under the eyes, half-finished bag of Cheetos at her side, with a very worried-looking husband in the background...)

I've been trying to figure out why I don't like people touching my stomach without permission. After all, I like giving and getting good hugs. I really enjoy and am proud of being pregnant, at least once I get past the initial barf-fest of the 1st trimester. I don't feel fat in the least, even though I started this pregnancy with some extra cushioning. And I know that after rubbing my stomach, no one is going to then grab one of my breasts and ask if I'm ready to breastfeed, or pat my crotch and say they can't wait to see my son come out down there.

I realized that, as a society, we just don't go around randomly rubbing each others' stomachs, except when there's a baby involved. I've been on this earth nearly 31 years now, and I've spent only a couple of those months visibly pregnant. I'm still getting used to the idea of it, especially the tangible, growing reality of my expanding body. No one ever went to rub my belly before, except maybe when I was a baby, so it seems strange, unnatural now to have people start doing that.

One mommy blogger whose URL address I have long since lost put it so beautifully: "You never rubbed your Uncle Jim's belly without permission, and he always looked like he was at least two weeks overdue."

I still haven't figured out how to handle it. Interestingly, it hasn't really been total strangers who go to touch me - I wouldn't have much of a problem asking them to not touch my belly. It's been people to whom I already have some association, sometimes a pretty strong one, and because I have relationship with these people, it makes telling them I'm uncomfortable, well... uncomfortable. I'm extremely non-confrontational, which is probably why I blather on so much in my blog (safe outlet). Do I shrink back? I did that today, and I immediately felt guilty, especially considering the other person involved. Do I politely tell them to ask me for permission first? Because I'll tell ya: you ask me first, and I'll probably grab your hand myself and smash it up excitedly against my bellybutton, asking if you can feel my son and hey, here's the top of my uterus, and over there is the pizza lunch I just ate, isn't it cool? But I never remember to say it. Do I do what one person humorously suggested and start rubbing their bellies back? I don't think I could pull that off with the required light-hearted humor instead of resentment.

I'm not even sticking out as much as I will soon, in a few short months when I am waddling instead of walking. Oh my.

For now, I'm learning how to be more okay with it, reminding myself of the reason for all the excitement, the little man we are so anxious to meet, this perfect, flawless little miracle that my imperfect, flawed body is so miraculously sustaining and growing. I'm learning to grin and bear it and to know the intentions behind the touching are nothing but positive and loving.

I'm also reminding myself that, once in labor and delivery, random hands on my stomach will be a cake walk compared to the insane level of exposure I will have to complete strangers accessing every area of my body.