Pregnant Paws

These days, whenever my husband sees a child or baby, he gets VERY interested. He never used to be. Neither did I, and I’m afraid I’m still not.

Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I want to hold your baby.

Women in general are expected to looooooove babies and kittens and fluffy bunnies. It’s sexistfunnylookingbaby_600x450 and gross, but I get why. We’re expected to come out of the womb with a maternal instinct. I’ve never really had that. Sure, I have my moments, but it usually takes more than chubby cheeks or a wagging tail to get me interested.

I’m not worried, though. I know it’ll be different with my kid. The amount of love and attention I give my dog is enough to make anyone throw up. And I am interested in my friends’ kids. It’s just stranger babies I don’t really care about. It was never a huge deal before, because hubs was right there with me. Now, the moment he sees a car seat or a stroller, he’s in. And if HE’s interested SHE must be. But it’s weird. I almost think that I’m less interested in babies now. I’m not sure what that means.

But stranger babies don’t care. It’s stranger people who care. And not only do they want me to touch their babies, they want to touch me.

Yes, I know I’ve said (on this very blog) that I don’t care if people touch my stomach. Apparently, that does not stand for strangers who don’t ask. I get it now, fellow preggos, I get it.

Last weekend, a woman I have never met before walked up to me and immediately laid hands on the bump. She excitedly proclaimed that I couldn’t possibly be 7 1/2 months pregnant, I was way too small. I responded that I feel enormous, and she decided that would be a good time to ask me how much weight I’ve gained. This meant I had to respond WITH AN ACTUAL NUMBER. When I came out with one that was probably less than the truth (it’s been a while since I’ve had a midwife appt), she reasoned that I must have been tiny before getting pregnant. While her intentions were good, it just made me think about how not-exactly-tiny I was before Ziggy. Soon, I was wondering where all that weight was going. Legs, arms, face… and down the rabbit hole…

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It all evens out, of course. Another stranger told me I looked “a LOT further along than 7 months.” When I told him those were words no human should utter to any other human, he said, “No, it’s a good thing.” I’m still trying to figure out exactly how it’s a good thing.

But it’s not all bad. The woman at the craft store who asked me if I was buying yarn for a baby blanket, or the little girl who randomly pointed at me and told her mom “she’s got a baby in there,” – those are nice. My friend told her adorable daughter that I had a baby in my stomach and she (the daughter) tried to lift my dress, searching desperately for this poor baby I was smothering inside of me. Probably one of my favorite preg moments so far.

In less than a week, I’ll be driving home (HOME!!!) to Nashville with my father, peeing every 20 minutes and navigating strangers along the way. After what will probably become a 24 hour journey, I will be full steam ahead for the boat stage of pregnancy. I’m sure I will be expected to kiss many babies before I’m done with this thing. I’ll endure stranger danger touches and perfect the art of pretending pee is not leaking out of me. My ankles will swell, as will my stomach. And then, I’ll have a baby, and it will all get much, much more complicated.

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