How to Make a Pregnant Lady Feel Like Shit

I am thirteen weeks pregnant and finally feeling like something other than a zombie. I was showing off my “bump” at work. I felt happy and proud, like I finally was at a good place with this pregnancy, a place that I could enjoy. But as soon as that happy feeling came, it was washed away by the words of a friend when she said, “You really shouldn’t be showing until five months.”   She smiled. It was a chide, a little joke. Haha, you’re too big. I know she thought it was a light-hearted comment, something funny. But I didn’t. The truth is, I found it incredibly hurtful.

I’ve struggled with trying to have a healthy self-image since adolescence. My weight has yo-yoed since I was sixteen and I’ve been on both sides of the “healthy weight” line. Before I got pregnant, I was the heaviest I had ever been in my life. I felt disgusted with myself, defeated and ugly.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was incredibly happy, but also anxious. The nausea, vomiting and weight loss that accompanied my first two months didn’t help. I couldn’t stomach fruits or vegetables. Peanut butter and toast were my staple foods.  In fact, losing weight made me feel like I was already failing at being a mother, like I wasn’t able to do the most basic thing for my unborn baby—give it the nutrients it needs. Plus, the weight loss made me once again feel like I had no control over my own body.

My weight has stabilized. Although I haven’t gained any, I’ve stopped losing. According to my doctors, I’m healthy and according to my wardrobe, I’ve gone up two pants sizes from my pre-pregnancy size. I feel much better, but I’m still anxious about my body and my pregnancy.

While shopping for maternity clothes this past weekend, Husband worked really hard to make me feel comfortable with my changing body. He encouraged me to get outfits that accentuated my growing tummy and show off my “bump.” The trip was a success, and I left the store feeling much less overwhelmed and much more beautiful.

But then, today, my friend said those words.  “You really shouldn’t be showing until five months.”  All those good feeling immediately came undone.

Not only did what she say bring back my insecurities about my body, and my pregnancy, but it is also completely inaccurate. Most women begin showing between 12-20 weeks for their first pregnancy, and every pregnancy is different (even pregnancies in the same woman). Some women begin showing as early as 8 weeks. Some women don’t show until they are 7 months. The strength of a woman’s abdominal muscles, how many kids she’s had before, and the tilt of a woman’s uterus, can affect how early a woman begins to show.

As this person is both woman and a feminist, it surprised me that she thought it would be okay to say what my body should be looking like. At the moment, I was stunned into silence. A nervous laugh is all that escaped my lips, along with the line, “Well, I was pudgy to begin with…”

I shouldn't feel this way. I know I have power over how I feel, and how other people’s words impact me. But at the same time, do I really have to put up with this? Seeing headlines in the wake of the birth of the royal baby have been bad enough—speculations on how quickly Kate will lose the baby weight, or the comparisons drawn between Kim Kardashian and Kate’s bodies during pregnancy.

My body is my own. I’m already under the care of a doctor (a person who is actually qualified to make judgments on my changing body during my pregnancy). I already have to put up with the media and society fueling my insecurities and anxieties, strangers making assumptions about my pregnancy and my person based solely on my body. Do I really have to put up with this from people I know too?  

If You Can't Say Anything Nice...

“If you can't say something nice, say nothing at all.”

Do you remember that old adage? I sure do. It seems to be lost on a lot of people these days. I was reminded of this when I checked into one of my favorite blogs today and found this: http://groupthink.jezebel.com/thank-you-i-love-unsolicited-opinions-on-my-appearance-486185660

In the blurb, the author shares her experience of some guy (who works in the service industry and should know better) made a critical and unsolicited statement of the author’s appearance, while simultaneously making sexual innuendo. Good job, guy. Good job.

It seems that many strangers are willing to offer you up their personal opinions of your appearance, especially if you’re a woman. When I worked in retail, it happened on numerous occasions. The following is just a small sampling:

-          That skirt doesn’t look that nice on you.

-          I’d prefer you without the dramatic makeup.

-          Why do you wear your hair like that?

The most heinous event I can remember is one man in particular, who was, shall we say, rotund. The following was a brief exchange:

Man: “When are you due?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Man: “The baby. When are you due?”

Me: “I’m not pregnant.”

Man: “Oh. Well, you must have just had a baby.”

Me: “No.”

Man: “Well, too many ice cream sundaes then, huh?”

Go. To. Hell.

Throughout that exchange I managed to keep my cool. Despite all my not-so-subtle hints that he should shut the eff up, he continued on. I was firm when I said, “No.” My body language was stiff and uncomfortable. I looked at him directly in the eyes when I told him, without a smile on my face, that I was not pregnant. Despite all this, he felt it was his obligation to make very vocal commentary not only on my appearance, but my body. My body is mine, not yours. You’re not allowed to talk about it unless I give you permission, and you’re sure as hell not allowed to publically tell me how fat you think I am. (BTW, I have a healthy BMI and exercise regularly, not that that should even matter. No one deserves to by body shammed or publicly criticized over their appearance.)

So here’s my question in all of this: Why is it that some people feel the need to make unsolicited commentary on other people’s bodies / appearances? Granted, this is mostly a lady problem, as this is something I know countless other women deal with regularly. But what compels a person to go out of their way and essentially insult a stranger?

I’m not sure why it happens, but it does. So I guess, let me just reiterate the old saying: If you don’t have anything nice to say, then shut the hell up.

Fighting the Block

The past two weeks have been tortuous. I haven’t written a damn word. Instead, I have sat in front of my computer, letting the cursor blink on the screen, and staring until the pixels started to dance. In lieu of writing, I have also watched television, read “junk” books, cooked extravagant meals, played with the cats, visited family, and napped…a lot.

Normally, when I get into one of these ruts, writing just a sentence can help kick me out of it. Even if that sentence is junk. Or sometimes, just thinking deeply about the next scene, or taking long walks, or meditating can help. But these past few weeks, none of these old tricks have worked.

In fact, I've been so caught up on my own life, and my own feelings, that I can’t seem to focus on my characters. Recently, something rather odd happened to me—the details of which I won’t get into. In the moment of that thing happening, I wasn't exactly sure what to do, how to act, what things I should say, or even if I liked what was happening. Even now, I don’t know my feelings on the whole thing. I have played and replayed this event over in my head, trying to determine what I wanted out of the situation, and how I should have responded to the stimuli around me.

I tried to write about it in essay form, but I kept stopping, rewriting, erasing. What I was putting down wasn't helping me to understand the situation, and thus, wasn't helping me to move past it and refocus on my novel.

Today, I got an idea. What if my protagonist had been in my situation? What would he have done, said, felt? Would he have acted braver, weaker, or bolder, than I had? I took to my computer and threw him in. And boy, did he know what he wanted to do.

I still don’t know what I should have done. But I know what my protagonist things about the whole thing, and that’s good enough for me.

Forget Dear Abbey

In this touching letter to Leonard Nimoy, a young girl asks for guidance. His response is not only thoughtful, but also heartwarming and downright awesome. This, my friends, is one of many reasons why I love that man. 

Dear Mr. Spock,

I am not very good at writing letters so I will make this short. I know you are half Vulcan and half human and you have suffered because of this. My mother is Negro and my father is white and I am told this makes me a half-breed. In some ways I am persecuted even more than the Negro. The Negroes don't like me because I don't look like them. The white kids don't like me because I don't exactly look like one of them either. I guess I'll never have any friends.

F.C.
Los Angeles, Calif.