[ Ranted, here, in the presumed safety of the blog that no co-worker nor family member knows about.] [Except Mr.Q – but if he’s stupid enough to say anything, I can freak out on him without fear of retribution since he decided long ago that I’m too hormonal right now to really pay attention to.]
Ack. Take a few days off work, get a haircut and suddenly everyone forgets that you’re pregnant. I spent the entire day amidst slack-jawed staring and blunt-force commentary about how remarkably – nay, unbelievably – large I now am.
“are you sure it’s not twins in there??” stated with the utmost sincerity and concern
“you have [gasp!] HOW many weeks left?”
“you were only gone for a week! look how big you’ve gotten!”
“you still have to put on HOW many more pounds??”
And what do I do? Grin. Make a little “yeah, and I don’t where the rest of the weight is possibly going to go!” joke. [okay, I was a little snippy with the woman who made the twin comment – mostly because of the excessive, dripping “sincerity”] Bundle it all up and vent on Mr.Q – who suggested that perhaps I should have taken today off too – and online.
What would I like to do?? Give my little speech:
I mean, really, people. I am now over 7 months pregnant. I supposed to be freaking big. And, for all your information – yes, you dear co-workers, who have all either never had children or had them eons ago – I am dead on my doctor’s mandated weight gains and belly size. The fact that I’m carrying it all in the front is not my fault and I actually rather prefer it that way. So get over it, the gut is only going to get bigger and I’m only going to get more likely to smack you upside the head with a two-by-four if you’re stupid enough to keep pointing it out to me at every chance you get.
But, I like my job. And I do plan on returning to it after my leave. While my leave is a year long and memories of any little freak-outs on my part may have faded, albeit slightly, in that time, I figure it’s just not worth it.
The funny thing? Everyone keeps asking me if having people touch my stomach is annoying, but only three people have rubbed my belly – and one of them was my mother. And, in actuality, I could probably deal with that much better. But maybe, because of all the horrified-belly-size comments, I have inadvertently let my face show that I might just go off the deep end.
And rubbing my belly still puts the other person with my arm’s length…for now, at least.
oh, that feels much better. end rant.