As soon as a woman’s baby bump starts to show, she quickly realizes that the world is brimming with unsolicited opinions, inquiries, and advice. From gems like “You better sleep now because those days are numbered” to questions about the baby’s gender and comments on her belly size, a pregnant woman is bombarded with it all. While these remarks can be mildly annoying at best, they can also be profoundly distressing. I was once guilty of joining the chorus of those who engage in this behavior until my perspective shifted dramatically.
At 20 weeks into my second pregnancy, I faced the heartbreaking news that my baby girl was unlikely to survive until birth due to a severe heart defect. The prognosis was grim, and the waiting period for the next 12 weeks was excruciating. Supportive friends and family were aware of our situation, but my pregnancy bump didn’t carry a sign revealing our tragic reality. Strangers continued to offer their well-meaning comments, unaware of how painful their words could be.
“You must be thrilled!” exclaimed a cashier at the grocery store. In reality, “thrilled” was the last sentiment I felt. Words like “devastated,” “frightened,” and “overwhelmed” would have been more accurate, yet even those couldn’t encapsulate my emotional turmoil. “Have you set up the nursery? What stroller did you choose?” a fellow expectant mother asked during a toddler class. I frequently heard remarks like “Wow, you’re huge! Are you having twins?” My belly was large due to the excess amniotic fluid caused by my daughter’s condition.
I faced a dilemma: should I reveal the harsh truth, or pretend everything was fine? I chose honesty only once, and it led to an awkward exchange that left both parties uncomfortable. From that moment, I decided to say what people expected to hear. While faking excitement felt soul-crushing, it was easier to manage than confronting the reality of my situation.
After we lost our daughter, my body took its time to recover, and I didn’t rush to regain my pre-pregnancy figure. I found solace in food and wine during my grief, which left me looking pregnant for months after my experience with Grace. When I was out with my two-year-old daughter, people often assumed I was expecting again. The questions and comments didn’t stop there. A few times, I responded to “When are you due?” with a blunt “I’m not pregnant,” which led to embarrassment and swift exits from those who inquired.
Eventually, I reverted to my previous approach, pretending to be the excited mom-to-be. It felt unjust to have to mask my grief, but it was the simplest way to deflect the ongoing questions. I longed to share Grace’s story with those close to me, not with acquaintances.
After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore. I withdrew from social situations and focused on losing the post-caesarean weight. I was in a tough spot; dieting and exercising were the last things on my mind, but I pushed myself to avoid the unwanted attention tied to my figure.
Every baby bump carries a unique story, and while many of these tales are joyful, others may not be. I’ve learned that making assumptions about someone’s situation can lead to unintentional hurt. I never felt anger towards those who commented on my pregnancy; it’s a societal norm to discuss such matters. However, it might be time for a change in perspective. Just as I wouldn’t pry into a childless couple’s decisions, I will refrain from asking pregnant women about their growing bellies.
So, if you see me at a café or playgroup and I don’t mention your lovely bump, please understand—I’m simply taking precautions. It’s possible that you aren’t feeling as thrilled or happy as the societal script suggests. You might not welcome unsolicited parenting tips or comments about your size, and unless you choose to share your journey with me, it’s just not my place.
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In conclusion, I’ve learned the importance of sensitivity around pregnancy discussions. Every bump has a backstory, and it’s essential to recognize that not all stories are filled with joy.
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