In my pre-pregnant past, I had often and casually called other pregnant women big. I truthfully regarded being big a natural pregnant state and, frankly, a compliment. Rare is a woman who feels comfortable in her curves and pregnancy gives us the license to be just that: comfortably big.
Imagine my surprise when, during my 5th month, a causal remark from a relative (”Are you sure it’s not twins? You look big for 5 months”) hurt my feelings. Me? Hurt over a BIG remark? Impossible! But there it was. I scanned my memory trying to recall recently pregnant friends at 5 months, and yes, I was sure I was bigger. It didn’t help knowing that everything was going by the textbook: I was gaining an optimal amount of weight weekly (and even less than that on more than one occasion). This was my body, my normally flabby belly filling up with baby and its accoutrements. Oh, the predicament! I suddenly felt foolish for all that casualness with others.
I put off licking of my bruised ego’s wounds, hoping for redemption elsewhere. And it came: the hugeness continued unrestrained and I felt better with every bit that came. Ironically, the way out of this emotional inconvenience, was the course I was already on: getting bigger. Consequentially, random Big Remarks started rolling right off my back. There wasn’t even a twinge of hurt after a (male) co-worker yelled across the room that I was “ready to pop” and how he’d give this kid no more than two weeks, it was so “huge.” The time of devastation had long passed and the biggness became what I only intellectually believed to be the case: an indication of a new life inside itself; a miracle of life, if you will; an awesome thing a body is capable of doing.
Besides, I kind of I think I look cute…