Alighting from the metro yesterday after work, I was asked a question by a fellow commuter: “May I pat your baby bump, please?” She asked it so warmly, so sincerely and it was natural thus to agree to this stranger’s request. One hand gently placed on the Seahorse’s cocoon, a wee rub, huge smiles (both she and I) then the interloper was off, down the escalator leaving me and Seahorse to contemplate what exactly just happened.
In a society where one’s life’s work is synonymous with a Facebook status, I have found throughout this pregnancy that nothing is off-limits. Suddenly my growing waistline is everyone’s business. Not just my own sisters and well meaning coworkers but the strangers I encounter every day have become gravely concerned about my mothering endeavors.
The first, “how far along are you, Alice?” certainly brought a proud smile on my face (I finally looked pregnant, not just fat), and to this day, at almost 30 weeks along, I still derive great fulfillment, grin and answer in a most dignified and valiant manner that I am such and such along.
Come one and all, rub my belly. After all, what kind of a heartless monster would deprive another human being from experiencing the creation and miracle of life? At any rate, Seahorse welcomes all the attention!