1. Thou Shall Not Touch A Pregnant Woman's Belly:
I feel that this should go without saying, but apparently, it needs to be repeated. Unless you created me, are one of my sisters, closely share a bloodline, stood up in our wedding, or we are good friends, you do not get to touch my belly. Certainly not without asking first.
Last week, while walking through a public establishment with my sisters and not discussing anything having to do with babies, a STRANGER bee lined to me, put her hand on my stomach, and pointed a finger thisfar from my nose before saying "THIS is a blessing - no matter what it is!" Yeah, lady, I know. What I don't know is your name, why you are touching me, or why I am being scolded by you.
I get that people like pregnant bellies. I get it. I like them, too. But never in my life have I thought to myself, "I am going to touch that pregnant lady without asking." If you find yourself wanting to do so, remember the following words from my favorite emperor:
2. Thou Shall Not Judge What A Pregnant Woman Eats Or Drinks:
I was once guilty of this one myself. I was 23 and in a bar when I noticed the pregnant woman next to me was on her second beer. There was an internal struggle while I thought to myself, "I don't know if I should say something, but I am pretty sure that fetal alcohol poisoning is frowned upon." Taking the low, but still slightly higher than shoving my nose directly in her business road, I quietly judged her life choices and choked my comments down.
Not long after my silent judgment, she struck up a conversation with me that eventually led to the topic of her impending motherhood. She touched her belly, took a swig of her beer, and said, "Thank you for being nice about me drinking a beer - my milk production is very low, and my doctor has prescribed two beers a day to help increase my supply. This beer is actually non-alcoholic, but it hasn't stopped others from giving me the stink eye or telling me I am a bad mom. It's a really sensitive subject for me, and I am just trying to make the best choice for my baby." I quickly lied tried to cover my hasty jerkfaceness and said, "Of course! There was no judgment at all!"
In that moment, I learned that I do not walk in her shoes, I don't know anything about her medical history, nor am I her doctor, so I am not entitled to an opinion.
3. Thou Shall Not Comment On A Pregnant Woman's Weight:
I have eyes and I own a mirror - I am well aware that my shape is changing. I have already decided that I shouldn't waddle into open waters while in a white and black swimming suit, or I will be running the risk of being harpooned and sold as a Japanese delicacy. Despite having gained less weight than recommended so far, it is still a touchy subject for me.
I appreciate your concern that my baby will be so huge that he will come out carrying a lunch pail, but that doesn't really make a hungry pregnant woman who is high on progesterone feel very good about herself. And it doesn't bode well for your chances of not being eaten by the giant, hungry, hormonal woman.
4. Thou Shall Not Compare Pregnancies:
I think that it is wonderful that you only gained five pounds your entire pregnancy, while not throwing up once, and sporting your perfect hair/nails/skin/life before your 12 minute labor that resulted in the world's cutest baby who slept through the night from their first day of life before going on to graduate first in their class and cure cancer. What I find slightly less wonderful is your insistence that my pregnancy, child, and parenting should be the same as yours.
Believe me, if this process were like picking out a pair of new shoes, I would have picked the shiny red pair that feels like walking on clouds, was clearance priced, and promised to make our offspring a genius. But that's not how this works. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit. Maybe we will get a child prodigy, and maybe we will get a kid who tries to wear his underwear outside of his clothes until he is 14.
5. Though Shall Tell The Pregnant Woman How Fabulous She Looks At All Times:
Today, I worked on my hair for an hour and still wasn't happy with it. I tried on 4 outfits before settling on something that put my belly front and center, but was comfortable. I vomited all morning, and as I was walking out the door for church, I became light headed and tumbled down two steps, across a sidewalk, and halfway through the front yard. The outfit it took me many tries to find was covered in mud, my ankle was twisted, my knee was bleeding, I had gravel embedded into my hand, and I was relatively certain that I had placed my ever increasing weight directly on my baby when I rolled through the lawn before mercifully coming to a stop.
I sat on my front lawn and cried, assessed my injuries, and pulled myself together enough to get to the car. Just as I was starting to really freak out that I had irreparably harmed our baby, he started kicking away. And then I cried happy tears.
When I got to church, I headed straight to the bathroom to wash off my muddy clothes, splash my face with cold water, and put on a smile. As I entered the worship space, I was greeted by a hug and a friendly face who said, "You look soooo good! I can't believe you are already over halfway!! I wish I would have looked that good while I was pregnant!" I'm sure she noticed my muddy skirt and blotchy face, but she sweetly chose flattery instead. A small gesture, but one that assured this rookie that maybe, just maybe, I am not a complete failure at childbearing. And most importantly, that my hair is still fabulous :).
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