On being prego

by Jess

If there’s one thing I’ve learned while being knocked up, it’s that you should never, ever comment on the size of a pregnant woman’s belly.  And it’s not because we’re self-conscious about being fat — I, for one, was relieved to finally be able to stop secretly obsessing about my weight and take advantage of the freedom of second helpings — it’s because it’s so damn annoying.  It’s bad enough that we have to lug a 30- or 40-pound counterweight around all day, but now we also have to suffer inane comments from everyone from our mothers to the cashier at the grocery store.  No, I am not “about to pop.”  No, I am not having twins.  Yes, I am very uncomfortable.  Yes, I have two months to go.  I’m sorry, are you an OB?  Have you taken my fundal height measurement?  Do you know what the hell you are taking about?  No, I didn’t think so.  Every woman’s belly grows at a different rate (some gain it all at the beginning, some all at the end, some gradually as they go), and they gain differing amounts of weight.  For example, on Sunday, I was told I looked like I was going to “pop.”  On Monday, I was told I looked tiny.  Conclusion: you people don’t know anything.  So just stop.

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