He’s leaving on a jet plane
Matt’s on his way to Boise, ID where apparently their airport was rated number one by the TSA in 2009. That’s hopeful.
To keep from crying (I’m pregnant and a touch emotional, damnit,) I’m going to compose a list of all the things I’ve done when people have touched my pregnant belly.
First note, I HATE it when people touch my stomach. I’m even almost against family touching me. I mean, ask. The worst I can say is no. Or as you’ll read…
1. My first experience with someone grabbing without permission was at work when a coworker started mindlessly rubbing my stomach. I asked, “Do you have an itch?” She looked at me, confused, and said, “What?” Well, you’re rubbing my stomach. I was wondering if you forgot you had a stomach of your own?” That ended that.
2. The polite rubber: Again, at work, a coworker came up and said, “Oh! I love pregnant bellies! Can I touch it?” Now, personally, I have no IDEA what some people’s obsession is with pregnant bellies. In my life I’ve touched two besides my own. Two. I looked at her and asked, “I’m so glad you asked.” As I started to move on to “But I really don’t like it when people touch my stomach. It’s kind of personal,” she was rubbing my stomach.
3. Strangers: You must have some set of balls to be able to ask a complete stranger if it’s OK to touch a pregnant belly. It’s not like you’re holding the actual baby. You’re touching skin, muscle, blood vessels, placenta, amniotic fluid, then baby. Plus, you’re only a few inches away from two separate private zones. I mean, come on! So strangers. When strangers ask me if they can touch my stomach, I politely say, “Really? Seriously?” I guess that doesn’t sound so polite, but thenagain, I don’t think it’s all that polite to ask to touch someone’s stomach. That’s just me.
One time, I said, “Why?” to a stranger who wanted to touch my stomach and they said, “Well, it’s so amazing, babies, pregnant women, growing bellies! I touch every one I see!” and I just stood there, mouth open staring. Then I said, “Well, not this one.”
4. My Mother in Law, who I love dearly, frequently forgets how much I HATE HAVING MY STOMACH TOUCHED. I’m not a touchy-feely person. But when you’re feeling the size of a house and people always comment on how you’ve ‘blossomed’ (and what is UP with THAT phrase?) and you just want to punch someone…the last thing I need is for someone who knows how I feel to ‘forget’. I feel guilty sometimes, saying “Please, don’t.” I really do. But usually, it’s my husband’s family that reminds her how I feel. “C’mon, Jul. You know she hates that. Stop it!”
5. The ultimate revenge: I read on a website (I was desperate) of how to ‘politely’ inform people that what they’re doing is annoyingly wrong. I came across this method and immediately had to try it.
I went to work thinking, c’mon…someone grab my belly. GRAB MY BELLY!
And finally, someone did.
According to the method from Parenting.com, if someone grabs your belly, grab theirs in return. See how they like it.
Baby or not, it’s called personal space. Respect it.
She looked at me, seriously confused, and said, “Why are you touching my stomach?” I said, “Well, look what you just did. How is this any different?”
That was the last time anyone at work touched my stomach.
There are a few people that I will let grab because they either A.) ask super politely B.) is my personal physician C.) is Dr. Probst because she so desperately wants a baby of her own and loves to feel for baby body parts and is so super duper nice and respects my space or D.) is my Mom or Sister or Matt. And even then I’m sometimes touchy.
There are times when I’ll grab someone’s hand and say, “Feel that?! It’s the baby’s elbow!” and that’s fine. But then, maybe I’m pissing someone off by making them grab my belly. (However, it’s only a select few I do this with…or to, rather.)
Perhaps I’m over sensitive, but it’s one of my hugest pet peeves. It’s right up there with excessive hugs, people who brag about things that they turn around and bitch about, and parents who just don’t care.
Oh, and puppy kickers. I don’t like that all that much, either.