When you think of pregnant women, you probably picture full and round little tummies, pleasant little ladies just glowing with cuteness and fertility. No wonder everyone wants to rain beauty and sunshine on these women. So, when everyone else finds out you are pregnant, guess what they picture? You, with that cute little bump of a tummy, decked out in the latest of cute maternity-girl wear, just radiating rainbows.
Everyone wants you to get a good little baby bump. Including you.
What everyone neglects to mention or, I suppose, actually think about--since we are intelligent, rational beings that overlook the things which don't interest us so much--is that it takes FOREVER for a bump to actually form. A noticeable one, anyway. Instead, you are left with the equivalent of a dying balloon for at least the first four or five months. That's been my experience so far. By a dying balloon, I mean that some days, you'll think to yourself, Okay, yeah, that looks as if there's a baby in there and not just fat from the extra serving of Oreos I've been indulging in each night. Then, the next morning, when you wake up and look in the mirror, your tummy will appear deflated and droopy. Not round and cute like an obviously pregnant woman, but slouchy and just plain pudgy, like someone who has given up on the gym or resisting anything fried. Coupled with the zits and the extra chafing in your thighs, you'll feel more unattractive than ever.
And supposedly this is when you're to be feeling your best during pregnancy. Oh, awesome.
Whenever you go out, you'll feel pressure to produce a bump. You want to please the crowd, after all, and they've been waiting 8, 10, 12 ( or in my case, 17) weeks to see the physical proof of this procreation. They want that bump to be there just as badly as you do, if not more, because without it, it's weird if they touch your stomach. And, man, do they ever want to touch all up on your stomach as soon as awkwardly possible.
This is where you have to just power through the pudge. Work it. I tend to choose looser dresses when I have to deal with the public, so that when I talk to people, or when they ask me the usual questions (about morning sickness or breastfeeding or knowing the gender or feeling movement), I can drape my hand just below my gut in that pregnant woman caress so that it looks like more of a rounded mass than it actually is. Ladies and gentleman, I present you the Pseudo-Bump. People will always see what they want, anyway, so this has worked quite nicely so far. The crowd always goes wild.
As every woman you meet who has already been pregnant will be eager to tell you, you'll get a bump soon enough. And by the time that balloon is stretched to the max and ready to pop, you'll look back on what is now this aggravating stage with a misty eye and the film of nostalgia. So suck it up, stick it out, and give the people what they want.
Because if you can learn anything else from these formerly-pregnant women, it is this: once you actually have the baby that is supposed to be in your pudgy stomach, you'll forget about this stage entirely, and in later years will continually refer only to the most gracious, amazing moments of your pregnancy, developing mother amnesia over those first 20 or so weeks when nothing very gracious or amazing happened.
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