I’ve always been fascinated by those women who go to the loo and just, you know, unexpectedly HAVE A FREAKING BABY. Fascinated and envious.
Despite the fact that I always ended up looking as though I had an oddly shaped basketball protruding from my frontal area at full term, I was also always given a good, oh, 10-hour advance warning that I was about to participate in something rather extreme.
My favourite part of being pregnant was the public commentary that I was subjected to (a sarcasm font would be really handy right now). Not that anyone was mean – they were just, well, upfront. For instance, when I was pregnant with my second child, my mother exclaimed that, “Oh you must be having a girl because your arse is HUGE”.
Yeah, those kind of observations are always (never) welcome.
So too the belly rubs. I mean, personally, it rarely bothered me but this may be because it was always invited or from someone that I knew well. It was such a lovely thing to have someone you know, feel the baby kick. I’m getting clucky just writing that sentence.
I have to admit here though that I was never approached by a stranger on the street who uninvited, just felt that they could touch my pregnant belly. I’m not entirely sure what my reaction would have been had they. I was relatively young when I was first pregnant and if I were to admit it, I always felt a little bit special during these times. People were kinder, they would strike up a conversation with me, just give me a knowing smile. It was a serene time in many ways.