I’m glad you were excited to see a pregnant lady and to celebrate my unborn baby, but…
Stop. Touching. Me.
I’m sorry, it had to be said.
My pregnant belly was not a genie in a bottle.
No wishes were going to come to you by touching it, except maybe death wishes.
You were not entitled to touch me without asking just because I looked “adorable” while growing my son in my womb.
Even though I don’t consider myself to be much of a feminist, I will talk about consent until I am blue in the face.
And you, dear strangers, did not have it.
My apologies if I came across a little harshly when I peeled your grabby fingers off myself and my child.
It’s just, I don’t know you. And to be quite honest, I barely let ANYONE touch my pregnant belly.
My belly hurt most of the time from my stretched out and swollen round ligaments that were carrying the weight of my baby. He liked to kick the ligaments in question with all his might, adding to the soreness.
I think he’ll be in karate someday, but that is beside the point.
It’s not cool to run up to a random stranger and fondle their belly. It’s creepy.
Pregnancy attracts excited, boundary-challenged people to you at the grocery store. It doesn’t discriminate either, I had all kinds of people want to rub my belly.
It makes me wonder how people even need birth control after their first pregnancy.
I like to peruse my pickles and ice cream options in peace…i.e. not with a line of strangers waiting to cop a feel of my unborn child. If I am denied this, it won’t be pretty.
After all, who can decide between mint chocolate chip or cappuccino chunky chocolate ice cream with a fan club behind them?? Not this gal!
So, dear strangers, if you really want to touch my pregnant belly, please ask. The Elvis of baby bumps has left the building for at least three years, so you have a bit of a wait to practice this on other people.
I’ll probably tell you no, but at least this time you’ll be safe from me opening a can of pregnancy hormones on you. 😉
New Crunchy Mom