Arg! WordPress ate my blog.
So here goes again…
The man who stands near our corner and counts buses all day (a Lima thing) made my day yesterday.
As I was running towards my favourite big green bus, he called out: “Are you pregnant?”
“Yes, I am,” I said.
Holding up five fingers, he said “Five months!”
Stunned, I asked him how he knew. “I know these things,” he told me. It’s that old pregnancy mysticism again.
I was deeply thrilled with this exchange because lately everyone keeps telling me I don’t look pregnant, or at least that I don’t look that pregnant. It’s making me a little more paranoid than usual, even. There was the obstetric nurse who said I didn’t look pregnant at all, the hairdresser who said my belly was very small and the checkout chick who told me pointedly that I was in the preferential line (In Peru they have preferential lines everywhere for oldies, preggos and women with small children). Then there were the old biddies who gave me evil looks for being in the aforementioned supermarket line.
Hell, if I have the right to be in the preferential line for once, I am going to be in it.
I would never have imagined that being told I don’t look that pregnant would be upsetting. But it freaks me out. It keys into all of my fears that there isn’t actually a baby in there after all, or that something might be wrong. I met a woman with a 7-month old toddler the other night who said she had similar fears during her pregnancy. Before the baby kicked, she would be in tears over it. The baby turned out to be a little lazy in terms of kicks, so she was worried her whole pregnancy.
This made me feel a little less of a loon, because she’s a “normal” mother who never had to resort to fertility treatments, and so didn’t have all the added baggage that comes with that.
Bellies are a lot like the education and health systems, I am finding. Everyone has an opinion they want to share with you. Your belly is either too big, too small, high because you’re carrying a girl, low because you’re carrying a boy, wide, narrow, etc etc etc.
I can’t wait till tomorrow when we go for another peek inside the belly to see what’s going on. Maybe that will put all my fears to rest for at least another few weeks. By then, my belly might be big enough to start earning some “Gosh, you’re huge!” type comments. And the old biddies at the supermarket might shoot me a kindly glance. I’m not holding out for that, old people can be ruthless.