Big-Boned and Beautiful

My fetus thinks she’s fat. That’s right. Body image issues in utero. As the mom, I can take all the looks, comments, and flabbergasted exclamations when the mailman or the grocery clerk hear that I STILL have two more months. Your retorts ring in my ears at bedtime, “You’re Huge.” “YOU ARE about to POP!” “Gee, I’d hate to see you at 9 months” and my new favorite that seems to be paired with a hearty open-mouthed cackle, “You’re sure there aren’t two in there, darlin’?” Yes. Pretty sure. Now shut your trap, meth addict. Your teeth look like you have been gargling with coffee. I can take it all, but my baby. My sweet little 3 lb. baby. Thanks a lot. Now she has issues. She can hear, you know. That’s why Brad has been serenading Big Brown Eyes on the guitar at night and why I enthusiastically read aloud from that awful book, Goodnight Moon, in the nursery rocking chair with inflection in my voice.

She is taking it all in. Every suggestive comment about the importance of exercise and how I really only need to be ingesting a maximum of 300 extra daily calories. 300? You don’t say? And here I thought flabbing it out on my couch, eating sticks of Land-o-Lake’s like summer popsicles was what the doctor ordered. I will have you know that the OB says I am perfectly in range. No gestational diabetes, no swelling. My kid is just big-boned. Now leave me alone.

I find myself rubbing my belly in front of Dove Commercials while telling the Seed she is beautiful just the size she is. I still think years of therapy may be ahead of us. My sister is having the opposite problem. She has been suffering the skinny girl ridicule. Strangers on the street coming up to her, probing if she is eating enough. “You know you really shouldn’t diet when you are pregnant – your body needs at LEAST another 300 calories.” I told her to flick ‘em off and say she is doing just fine with her celery sticks and diet coke, but thanks for the unsolicited advice.”

So, here is the script. Pay attention and repeat after me. “Congratulations! You look absolutely wonderful. In fact, you are glowing.” And that’s about all that you need to say. Even if you have to lie. Just stick to the script and everyone will be fine. The only person that is actually exempt from this rule and allowed speak her mind is the maternal great-grandmother. She gets full reign. Or at least in my experience, it is impossible to put a muzzle on her. Baba has gone around introducing my sister and me throughout our mutual pregnancies this summer, beaming with pride. This is her standard opening: “Yes, Amy is having a boy in September and Emily, well, we think she is having a girl. You know how they say that girls steal their mother’s beauty.” Wink wink. Fantastic. But, hey, as I said, I can take it. As long as I have my stick of butter to pacify me.