Hm. It’s definitely getting harder to just pull off looking “fat” and not “pregnant” at this point.
I am frustrated with maternity clothes because they have to be the only women’s clothing in the world that is designed to make a woman look extra fat. My maternity clothes are definitely comfortable, but with the extra pounds they add and accentuate, especially with the maternity belt that lifts my uterus into an even more prominent position, I don’t wear them often unless I’m at least halfway covered with cardigans. I am frustrated with my closet because the clothes I used to wear suddenly don’t fit anymore.
My supervisor at one job thought it would be best if no one knows I’m pregnant since she doesn’t want things to be awkward for me. On the one hand, I agree. It is really hard to be surrounded by people constantly talking about baby things when you don’t know how you’ll respond to it. (Some days I’ve had to call in sick at the library because I can’t handle the thought of looking at children’s books and hearing other people’s babies crying and laughing.) She also figures that if people know now what the diagnosis is, they’ll still make it awkward for me by always talking about it when I might not feel up to talking about it.
My mum seems to have the same attitude. I don’t think she wants the rest of the family to even know I’m pregnant. I haven’t told anyone outside of my parents, though my husband’s family all know (all of them who communicate with him, and even his mother, who he doesn’t have a good relationship with–or any relationship with most of the time).
The thing that no one seems to recognise, though, is that I am still getting bigger. I’m starting to look pregnant. I haven’t experienced the can’t-see-my-feet syndrome so many women talk about, and most of the time I feel like I must look like I just don’t know how to say no to chocolate (which is sometimes true, I admit…). It still feels so strange to be covering up the fact that I have an expanding belly when I’m at work to keep the questions at bay. It seems like I’m supposed to be ashamed of being pregnant, which is so frustrating to me because I’m not ashamed. I’m not ashamed of my baby’s condition, and there’s certainly nothing shameful about the circumstances of how I got pregnant.
I just have to think about it as protecting myself from further unnecessary emotional hurt. It is usually easier for people to not know, to not say anything. But sometimes it’s harder, like having a coworker who’s just a few weeks ahead of me, and who everyone talks about and coos over because she has a baby coming. It’s hard to not feel jealous sometimes.
I am thankful, however, for a strong support system at church, and for my parents (and those of my husband’s family who love and care for us so much) because as much as I hate talking about the specifics sometimes (especially since my head is constantly spinning with all of the different things the doctors keep telling us), it is good to know how much they love us–all of us, baby included.