The Pregnancy Police

A few months back, during church, I had a nice thing happen: I gave in. I gave in to the pregnancy. I gave in to what it's done/doing to my body, to how I look, to feeling sick, to being uncomfortable. I stopped 'kicking against the pricks', if you will. It was evident, in one of those pleasant moments of peace and clarity, that this experience is a process, and no matter how I handle it, I will eventually come out the other side, one way or another, but not without experiencing it. My mom said once, a long time ago, that pregnancy is like rolling off a log- once you start, it's going to happen. Why fight it? So, though not without stumble-age, the navigation has been easier since that day in church. I gave in and I was happier.

I think it's in large part due to that mini-revelation that lots of things don't bother me the way they might have previously. Yesterday at church I wore an outfit I was happy about. I noted that I liked how I looked in it and, in fact, looked rather thin, with exception of my Insider Resider. Perhaps the rest of me camouflaging as a thin person got people confused when 31-week-old baby bump looked no smaller than usual. Perhaps it emphasized it. All I know is, yesterday was the day it began. EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. that walked past me gasped with joy and asked me when I was due.

"Nine weeks!" I told them all proudly, thinking the number sounded so small, as this is the smallest it's ever been, after all.

EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. that had inquired reared back with shock and disbelief and exclaimed some variation of, "You still have nine weeks? I figured you were due tomorrow! / You are ENORMOUS! / I feel so bad for you! / You look like you could go today! / But you're so big! / My baby was 12 pounds too!"

The nice part was my friend was standing next to me for the duration of about 50 commenters on the subject, and she could not stop laughing. One after another after another said roughly the same thing, always perhaps a tad less sensitively than I imagine they intended, and it felt nice to have someone else along to experience my vast and newfound infamy. I believe a previous version of myself might have felt a little bad for said self. Now, I laughed with all of them and tried to agree.

"That's what I hear!" I chirped over and over to excitedly interested on-lookers, many of whom took this opportunity to comment on my body as occasion to speak to me for the first time ever.

(As many of you see me in-person very infrequently, and are perhaps imagining me the circus-freak herein described, I might inform you that I asked BOTH my doctor and my nurse separately if I was big for the baby's age, and they each measured and responded that I was exactly average and on-target.)

The nurse commented, "And if you looked any different everyone would tell you you were much too small! The Pregnancy Police are always on patrol!"