Baby bellies are the sweetest spheres.
I am one of those mamas who likes to rub the Buddha bellies. Caressing them makes me feel like I am connecting with a ball of love. Strangely, I am a magnet to them.
Vividly, I remember rubbing my pregnant belly. Sometimes a little foot or hand would poke through. It was like we were playing patty-cake. Seeing and feeling my child move around was amazing. Even at nine months with a 9-pound baby, I was obsessed.
The scale use to be my friend. We were buddies. I would gently step on the scale, and in return it would praise me for regularly exercising. It’s been awhile since we have exchanged numbers.
My weight has fluctuated dramatically. My excuses include holiday yummies, cold weather, medication, IPA beers and just plain laziness. Trying to wiggle into my fat jeans is pointless. I am well aware that my only friends right now are leggings and sweatpants. I am not proud of my weight gain.
Honestly, I haven’t been this heavy since I was pregnant with my daughter.
Since there has been an influx of mamas-to-be, my belly rubbing has been completely satisfied. Friends and family members have had bundles of joy. And there must be something in the water at work, because mamas are popping up left and right. I guess this is why I wasn’t really offended by what recently happened to me.
Maybe once a week, a jolly co-worker of mine and I greet each other with a smile and say good morning. Out of nowhere, he stopped me in the hallway.
In his broken English, he congratulated me on my pregnancy. He was so excited that he was motioning like he was rubbing my round protruding belly.
Touching my own belly, I proclaimed, “No.”
Then he said through his foreign smile that I “better start exercising again.”
His accent definitely covered up his rudeness and almost made it sound like he was concerned. However, I did rush away from the encounter thinking, “WTH?!” My feelings were twirling a bit. I must be huge. I have gained so much weight that people think I am actually pregnant. This has to change.
My love for baby bellies is undeniable, but for the love of God, someone has to be actually pregnant.
• Becca Hirst is a proud DeKalb resident who writes about her life as a working mother. She hopes to bring more enjoyment to and less shaming and judging of herself and other mothers. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.