People aren’t trying to be rude, says Dana Norris, but she dislikes being told that she is enormous.
I am visibly pregnant. I only fit into maternity clothes, which are, as a rule, designed to draw maximum attention to a pregnant belly. Maternity shirts and dresses are all gathered to pull the fabric taut across my stomach and most pieces feature large, horizontal stripes.
My uterus grows every day and strains against my abdomen, which in turn strains against the flexible panel on my maternity pants. My belly button is barely holding on. Pregnancy has come with a few new super powers, such as an amazing sense of smell, the ability to pee at any moment, and something chemical that makes doughnuts taste better now than they ever have before, but it has robbed me of my anonymity.
When my belly first started to bulge outward, I noticed a shift in the way people reacted to me. People on the train suddenly went out of their way to make sure I received the next open seat. When I walk down the street in a neighborhood full of people with kids I am recognized as a newest member of their club. They stare at my belly, smile, look up at me, and smile even more broadly. When I walk down the street of a neighborhood full of young people tumbling into and out of clubs on a Saturday night I am recognized as an oddity. They see my belly and then instantly look away. They’re interested in getting drunk and having sex and I, a pregnant lady, have nothing to do with those plans.
But I can no longer walk down the sidewalk as just another person, unnoticed. I am pregnant and I am noticed.
I recognize that being visibly pregnant is a bit of an aberration, since most of us are not pregnant most of the time. Some people see me and immediately begin to lift their hands and move toward me as though my stomach has its own gravitational pull, and they want to touch my belly so badly that they move without realizing it. But then they stop themselves, sometimes by grabbing the reaching hand away with their other hand. They then apologize because they know they’re not supposed to touch a pregnant woman’s belly.
That message, “Don’t touch a pregnant woman’s belly without asking first,” has been received by the populace. However, the message, “Don’t comment on a pregnant woman’s size,” has not.
A neighbor who I have not seen in a few weeks greets me, “Hey! You look like you’re ready to pop!” A man on the street outside of my train station comments as I pass by, “Any day now, huh?” A barista at a coffee shop cheerfully states, “You look like you’re gonna give birth, like, tomorrow!” I am seven months pregnant, I have gained 22 pounds, and I am not “going to pop” for at least another seven weeks. But even if I was nine months pregnant, or had gained 70 pounds, or was 7cm dilated at this very moment I still would not welcome these unsolicited comments about my body.
The subtext of all of these comments is, “You are big. You are so big that I cannot imagine you being any physically bigger than you are right now.” Even as these people tell me that I’m so, so big, they see it as an asset. I’m housing a new life so I’m momentarily big, fake big, it’ll go away, and therefore it’s fine to comment on it.
These people aren’t trying to be rude but I dislike being told that I am enormous. I know that my body is changing, I know that I am big and growing bigger, but I do not like being reduced to that fact. The fact that I am pregnant does not mean that I want to hear about people’s personal reactions to my physical appearance.
I miss being able to move through the world without everyone immediately knowing, on sight, a key piece of information about my future. I’m not used to this new body with its slower pace and new center of gravity and inability to lie down or stand up gracefully. I end most days puffy and tired and aching and I miss being able to move through the world without being on display. I am bigger than I have been in the past and I grow bigger every day, and as I increase, so do the unwelcome comments about my size.
So if you see me, or any pregnant woman, on the street and you feel moved to comment on our pregnancy, please limit your remarks to one of the following: “You look great!” “How are you feeling?” or my personal preference, “I brought you a doughnut.”
Dana Norris is the founder and host of Story Club, a monthly show for stories in Chicago. She has been published in Tampa Review, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, and The Rumpus. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Northwestern University. She performs around Chicago you may find a list of upcoming shows at www.dananorris.net.
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