After a brief glance to my stomach, my coworker had the nerve to ask, “Are you sure you’re six months pregnant?” AM I SURE? DID THIS MAN REALLY JUST ASK IF I AM SURE I AM PREGNANT? You know, I too hoped I would have a glamorous, rounded bump by the mid-end of my second trimester, but my son must be happy with the space he has currently.
All the mamas I’ve talked to recently have told me how “lucky” I am to not have much of a bump, but deep down, I wish I looked like a basketball was under my shirt. I want someone to think I am smuggling a pumpkin out of the pumpkin patch this fall.
I feel pressure to have something to show for my pregnancy, like the bump represents it. I am usually so good about ignoring the negativity, because I know it’s out of my control, but I’m still not sure why most think that the minute you get pregnant, you’ll look like you’re one squat away from labor. Bumps come in all shapes and sizes and they’re all beautiful, but people love to share their opinion.
It’s not fair to make me or any other pregnant woman feel ashamed of their bodies. I am growing a fucking human, what are you doing?