Friday, March 21, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
"On carrying small".....or in my case "big"
The last half of this pregnancy has been quite different than my first. What I also thought would feel like maybe a faster pregnancy the second time around, has felt much longer and has been more difficult. Adding to this difficulty has been the fact that I am carrying big. Not by my doctor's standards, but apparently by cultural standards. It's not that I've gained a tremendous amount of weight (on the contrary I've gained relatively little) but that my belly is quite large. As a result, I have had to deal with comments about this on a basically daily basis. I'm sure that some woman out there are not bothered by comments about whether they look "small" or "big" but most of the pregnant women that I vent to complain that it is at the very least irritating, and at worst rude and insensitive. Passing judgement about how a woman is carrying comes may come laden with concern, worry, or just the feeling of being atypical which is not pleasant. If a woman is told she looks too small for how far along she is, she may worry about the baby's well being, thinking "Is the baby growing okay? Is something maybe wrong?" Telling a woman that she is carrying large may cause thoughts about difficulty with delivery or numerous other complications that come with a big baby. I have copied and pasted an excerpt from another woman's blog who wrote about "carrying small." And for the record, the best comment to make to any pregnant woman is, "You look great!" That's it. The rest of the assessments are best kept to yourself. The mother is more than aware of how her body looks and doesn't need anyone to remind her.
On Carrying Small - by Kate
I carry small, and for that I should be grateful. Life is just easier when you can squeeze yourself through tight places for longer, wear more normal clothes more often, and carry the extra burden of pregnancy closer to your center of gravity. There's less back pain. Longer-lasting privacy before the world feels themselves owed information about and control over your body. When it comes time to squeeze that baby through my pelvis, I confess relief in the knowledge that I build small babies.
Blessings, counted!
Despite all this, I don't always love carrying small.
"How far along are you?" is always followed by the double-take, the look of shock, and then the editorial comment. It might be intended as a compliment. "You're so tiny!" Or maybe the comment is self-deprecating, "I was a WHALE when I was pregnant!" Worst of all are the judgy comments, "You need to eat more." Perhaps I should carry around a picture of me eating almond butter straight from the jar with a spoon, and just stuff that in their face as response.
Sometimes I walk up to groups of people who start talking about the size of my belly without engaging me in the conversation. Discussing me like a sculpture of a pregnant woman. It's awkward.
At least I have an answer when the question is posed: "Where are you hiding the baby?"
"Oh, she's jammed right up in my ribcage, taking up my lung-space. I haven't had a decent deep breath in months!"
It's cute and it's true.
Yesterday, two people -- two separate people, both of whom I see with some regularity -- noticed, for the first time, that I was pregnant at all. "When is your duedate?" They asked. Three weeks. My duedate is three weeks away. Perhaps I should just tell them it's three months. It would be easier on all of us!
I don't wish I was carrying bigger, or building a bigger baby. I wouldn't trade this body of mine for some body of somebody else's. But I do wish there was more cultural comfort around different body shapes, including the carrying-small shape I'm currently sporting, and including the woman who is having a singlet but gets constantly asked about twins, and including people who don't have anybody residing in their internal organs at all. People, big and small, whose bodies are all theirs.
It seems we are haunted by some Platonic ideal of the human body in all of its various stages. It's toxic, and it's wearing on me.
On Carrying Small - by Kate
I carry small, and for that I should be grateful. Life is just easier when you can squeeze yourself through tight places for longer, wear more normal clothes more often, and carry the extra burden of pregnancy closer to your center of gravity. There's less back pain. Longer-lasting privacy before the world feels themselves owed information about and control over your body. When it comes time to squeeze that baby through my pelvis, I confess relief in the knowledge that I build small babies.
Blessings, counted!
Despite all this, I don't always love carrying small.
"How far along are you?" is always followed by the double-take, the look of shock, and then the editorial comment. It might be intended as a compliment. "You're so tiny!" Or maybe the comment is self-deprecating, "I was a WHALE when I was pregnant!" Worst of all are the judgy comments, "You need to eat more." Perhaps I should carry around a picture of me eating almond butter straight from the jar with a spoon, and just stuff that in their face as response.
Sometimes I walk up to groups of people who start talking about the size of my belly without engaging me in the conversation. Discussing me like a sculpture of a pregnant woman. It's awkward.
At least I have an answer when the question is posed: "Where are you hiding the baby?"
"Oh, she's jammed right up in my ribcage, taking up my lung-space. I haven't had a decent deep breath in months!"
It's cute and it's true.
Yesterday, two people -- two separate people, both of whom I see with some regularity -- noticed, for the first time, that I was pregnant at all. "When is your duedate?" They asked. Three weeks. My duedate is three weeks away. Perhaps I should just tell them it's three months. It would be easier on all of us!
I don't wish I was carrying bigger, or building a bigger baby. I wouldn't trade this body of mine for some body of somebody else's. But I do wish there was more cultural comfort around different body shapes, including the carrying-small shape I'm currently sporting, and including the woman who is having a singlet but gets constantly asked about twins, and including people who don't have anybody residing in their internal organs at all. People, big and small, whose bodies are all theirs.
It seems we are haunted by some Platonic ideal of the human body in all of its various stages. It's toxic, and it's wearing on me.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
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