From the moment a woman’s baby bump becomes noticeable, she often finds herself the target of unsolicited opinions, questions, and advice from those around her. Comments can range from well-meaning suggestions like, “Be sure to get your rest now; you won’t sleep later,” to inquiries about the baby’s gender and remarks about the size of her belly. While some of these interactions can be mildly annoying, others can be deeply distressing.
Like many, I used to participate in these conversations without much thought. However, my perspective shifted dramatically during my second pregnancy, when I discovered that my unborn daughter, Lily, was facing a severe heart defect that made her survival unlikely. For 12 agonizing weeks, I waited, unsure if she would make it to full term, and even if she did, the prognosis was bleak.
Despite the support of my friends and family, my physical appearance did not reflect the gravity of my situation. I found myself enduring the same well-meaning questions from strangers who had no idea of the emotional turmoil I was experiencing. A cashier at the grocery store beamed, “You must be so excited!” In truth, “excited” was the furthest thing from my mind—“terrified” and “heartbroken” would have been more accurate descriptors.
When another expectant mother at a parenting group asked if I had decorated the nursery, the well-intentioned question felt like a stab. My bump was larger than typical due to a medical condition related to Lily’s development, which often led to assumptions and comments that were hurtful rather than supportive.
Faced with these frequently uncomfortable situations, I had two choices: reveal the painful truth or provide a socially acceptable response. I chose the latter to avoid awkwardness, even though it felt disingenuous. Sharing my reality with a stranger only led to an uncomfortable exchange that neither of us wanted.
After Lily’s passing, my body took time to heal; I continued to look pregnant for months afterward. While out with my toddler, I often encountered questions about my due date, prompting me to respond honestly with, “I’m not pregnant.” This often resulted in embarrassment for both parties, and I returned to deflecting inquiries with polite falsehoods about my pregnancy excitement.
Eventually, I found it too burdensome to maintain this facade. I began avoiding social situations altogether, focusing on losing the weight gained during my pregnancy. Although it was a difficult process, I felt compelled to address my appearance to avoid the painful questions that came with it.
Every pregnancy carries its own narrative, often filled with joy, but not all stories are happy. From my experience, I learned the importance of refraining from making assumptions about someone’s situation. Just as one wouldn’t ask a childless couple why they haven’t had children, it’s best to avoid inquiries about a pregnant woman’s condition unless she chooses to share.
In conclusion, if we cross paths in a café or at a playgroup, I won’t comment on your baby bump. I understand that you may be used to such remarks, but I prefer to err on the side of caution. Life can be complex, and not everyone is in a place of joy. If you wish to share your journey, that’s entirely your choice, and I will listen.
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