In the past two weeks, two separate people (one a stranger and one a waiter who sees me every other day) have asked me if I’m “expecting”. I’m not. I’m just carrying an extra 10kg, most of it attached to my belly like an insecure jellyfish.
But — for the love of all that’s holy — who still asks if someone’s pregnant? Who doesn’t know better? You. Don’t. Ask. That’s the rule. Until you see that baby’s head crowning with your own eyes, you shut your mouth and pass the xylitol.
Back to me…
I’m trying my damnedest not to dwell. But it’s hard. Because all I can think about is my flabby tummy. Clearly, all other people can think about is my flabby tummy. So it must be serious. Serious enough to chance it. Serious enough to risk getting the diagnosis wrong. Serious enough to warrant drastic action.
The problem? I don’t have the energy for drastic action. I’m eating well-ish. Exercising regularly-ish. And wearing more makeup, bigger earrings and brighter scarves to camouflage (okay, draw the eye upwards from) my fat pants.
I’m also having my hair done once a week. Because you can’t be a chubster who has wild hair. And during those hair appointments, I have a lot of time to avoid looking at myself in the mirror, while compiling a list of things for people to say instead of, “So how many weeks along are you?”
Here it is. Enjoy.
- 1. Nice earrings/scarf! (They distract beautifully from your boep and bum.)
- 2. Wow — who does your hair? (You’re really pretty for a round person.)
- 3. Ma’am, you’re sitting in an exit row. Are you over 18? (Yeah, right.)
- 4. You look well. (A widely understood euphemism for “You’ve gotten fat.”)
- 5. How’s the ice cream/cake here? (aka, “Wow, that’s a big-ass belly.”)
- 6. I think you’ve stepped in a puddle (aka, “Your water just broke.”).
- 7. Been for a run? (aka, “Breathe in, breathe out…”)
- 8. Oh look! A teeny, tiny little skull! Down there, right between your legs … Hey! Are you, by any chance, pregnant?
In conclusion, I have three words for you: YOU. DON’T. ASK. Got it? Good.