“You’re ready to pop!”
“Any day now, right?”
“You sure there’s just one baby in there?”
“He’s going to be a BIG BABY!”
“You won’t make it to your due date!”
It’s like every stranger is a doctor, everyone thinks you’re WAY bigger than you should be, and everyone is certain that you’re going to deliver earlier than your actual doctor thinks you are. And all this insistence that my time as a pregnant mom-to-be is going to be OVER BEFORE I KNOW IT is kind of bumming me out.
The actual comments aren’t a problem. Well, that’s a lie. I just got done crying to Josh on the phone over something someone said to me at work – so yes, the comments are a problem. I mean, think about it. NO woman enjoys the insinuation that she is ”HUGE” or “SO BIG” or that her baby is some kind of extra-large genetic monster who is going to rip her in half on his way out. In no other situation is it appropriate to point out to a woman and anyone else in the surrounding area that she has gained a TON of weight and her stomach has evolved from belly to planet-in-orbit.
But in the grand scheme of things, the comments are meant with the best of intentions – just the kind of thing people say to a pregnant woman when they aren’t sure what else to say. (Not that this makes it ok. Please, world, stop and think before you tell a pregnant woman how ginormous you think she is. It’s never a nice thing to say to a person – especially if that person is someone you only sort-of know!) Hurt feelings aside, Poncey is perfectly sized and growing steadily and my doctor hasn’t given me any reason to believe I’ll have anything other than a normal, on-time, healthy, average-sized baby boy. I’m not worried.
Here is what does make me a little sad: I feel so rushed when I get these comments.
I have loved being pregnant. LOVED IT. I haven’t been sick, I haven’t been terribly uncomfortable, I haven’t had any problems to speak of. I have had a textbook pregnancy, and it has been one of the best times of my life. I know that once Poncey gets here, time is going to shift into warp speed immediately.
If everything goes according to plan, we’ve only got about 45 more days to wait. 45 more days to dream of what his nose is going to look like, to plan his nursery and guess his hair color and imagine his little hands and feet grabbing and kicking as he gets to know the outside world. 45 more days where it’s just me and Josh and our quiet little life together. 45 wonderful days where Poncey is 100% safe and content while the rest of us do everything we can to prepare our world for his arrival.
I’m trying to savor every last minute of my time with Poncey before the big day arrives – and don’t get me wrong, I am SO EXCITED to meet him and see his face and show him off to the world. But I don’t want a single minute to go by faster than it has to. And when the rest of the world is pushing you forward, insisting that this wonderful time of my life is going to be over sooner than it needs to be…I don’t know how to explain it other than to say that I wish everyone would just slow down and let this happen as it happens.
Either way, he’ll be here before we know it. There’s no need to rush.