Wednesday, June 6, 2012
First, I would like to briefly explain the above picture, then I will address the discrepancy between my appearance and my gestation. Mitch and I went on our babymoon (pregcation?) this past weekend, and this was the only picture we took. Because we suck at taking pictures. It was at an art museum in Minneapolis, and the piece was titled "Jackie on stage with a pink spot." There were cigarette butts on the floor. And yes, I jumped on it when security wasn't looking.
So here's the thing with unsolicited comments and advice to a pregnant lady, the particular pregnant lady in question being myself; I don't really care. I suppose I should be offended by the comment that I look huge, but it just doesn't really matter. The woman in the aforementioned scenario was a refugee from Somalia, and I'm pretty sure she's not used to seeing well-nourished women carry children. But even if she wasn't from a country in a food crisis, it still wouldn't matter to me. My body and my baby are different from every other baby/body combination ever made, and people are stupid. These two preconditions combined with social interaction just beg for insulting and/or judgmental discourse. It usually makes for good entertainment, at least. Further, I've been one of the stupid people before, misjudging someone's gestation, even since I've been pregnant (sorry Alice). So really, getting angry doesn't do me any good, and I can't wine their stupidity away right now anyway. Thanks for the advice, lady; you're probably right about the sugar.