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Thursday, August 8, 2013

Soooo...Can we have a truth moment

Most bloggers have a moment where they want to share but there is a nagging voice in their head asking, “Is this a little too much?” You might ask what qualifies as “too much” for a person who essentially keeps a journal online. Too much =  Too heavy. Too embarrassing. Too real.

For me, today is one of those moments but, I am going to share anyway. I already opened the door in a previous post, so why not? 

I am bloated this week. I’m female. It happens every month like clockwork and I develop a little belly pooch that I can usually camouflage with a cardigan or a looser shirt. Last night, I had a volunteer meeting after work. At the end of the meeting, as I leaned over to grab my bag, my flowy, period-friendly cardigan opened a bit to expose the fitted tank I was wearing underneath. One of the women smiled at me and then began walking out with me. As we walked towards the door, she congratulated me. Let me be precise. She said, "Congratulations!! I didn't know!" in that super excited for you, happy tone that women get when a fellow female is about to join the mommy club.

I looked at her strangely because initially, what she was saying didn’t click. Then, I wondered if someone mentioned my recent promotion to her but I hadn’t told anyone so that didn’t make sense. Then, the light bulb came on…and exploded…and rained shards of glass all over me. She thought I was pregnant. SHE WAS CONGRATULATING ME ON A PREGNANCY THAT DOESN’T EXIST.

Sidebar: I’m not going to touch on her breaking one of the cardinal rules of womanhood: Thou shalt not ask your fellow woman if she is pregnant or how many months she has until her due date UNLESS it is absolutely, unequivocally clear that she is pregnant. In other words, unless your sister friend has a round, firm belly that she is resting her hand on while looking down and singing lullabies or is wearing a t-shirt that says “baby on board” or some other equally expectant maternal phrase, don’t mention the P word.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming--

There I was, a little dumbfounded.

Me: (looking at my tummy and then back at her) Oh, I'm not pregnant. I'm just bloated.
Her: What?
Me: I’m not pregnant.
Her: Oh sorry. I get bloated too.
Me: (awkward half smile) Have a good night.

I got in my car and drove home...and proceeded to cry the whole way. It kind of shocked me. Generally, I am a fixer, not a crier. But there was nothing in this situation that I could fix. What really struck me was that the cry had little to do with my desire to lose a few pounds and almost everything to do with the pain of not actually being (or working on being) pregnant. It hurt.

I got home to my husband’s arms and I was ok and having dinner about 20 minutes later, but the sting of the encounter with my would be well-wisher just reminded me that this uphill battle to motherhood is going to be a doozy. I know everything will work out exactly as it should. Damn.  


p/s I didn’t soothe my wounds with the bag of fun size peanut butter snickers Ash picked up at the store this week but TRUST ME, I really wanted to. 

Picture Credit: Mother and Child III by Diana Ong

2 comments:

anewlis said...

I TOTALLY feel your pain :( Sorry you had to endure the crazy pregnancy scneario AND while being on your cycle. Uugh!

Robyn said...

take a moment. breathe. go for ONE peanut butter cup. then laugh it off.