It was a lovely day when I wore my favorite A-line dress from ModCloth, complete with pleats. My kids were busy playing in the church garden as we waited to meet our priest. I stood there, arms at my sides, watching my trio of little ones when you approached me with your gravelly voice.
“All boys, huh?” you remarked.
“Yep, all boys,” I responded.
“And one on the way, it looks like,” you added.
In that moment, I felt a jolt of shock. “No,” I replied, my voice stiff. “I am not pregnant.”
“Oh, hit me,” you insisted, continuing the conversation as if your comment hadn’t just shattered my afternoon. But it had. I am absolutely not pregnant. I know that my medication has added some weight, but I didn’t think it would make my stomach look that pronounced. I even wore Spanx that day.
Honestly, do you not understand the fundamental rule? Unless you are either 1) the father of the child or 2) witnessing the birth itself, never assume a woman is pregnant. Sure, I was at a Catholic church in the middle of the day with three children who are closely spaced in age. It may seem reasonable to think that I would be expecting again. But those assumptions are just that—assumptions—and they often lead to misguided judgments about others.
It appalls me that you felt it was acceptable to make such a comment based solely on your perception of my body. Do you have any idea how I feel about the extra pounds I’ve gained? I struggle with it daily, trying to embrace body positivity and remind myself that I look wonderful at any size. Yet, when you misidentified me as pregnant, it felt like you were telling me I was too heavy to be considered “normal.” It’s a struggle I face every day, and your words only amplified my insecurities. I cried about that.
You also had no right to make assumptions about my ability to conceive. The truth is, I wish I were pregnant. I would give anything for the chance to carry another child. Unfortunately, pregnancy for me is plagued by hyperemesis gravidarum, a condition that left me hospitalized during my last pregnancy. I dealt with diabetes and dangerously low iron levels that required infusions. The thought of managing three children while being pregnant again feels impossible. My youngest son is my last biological baby, and I am heartbroken about it. Your comment brought all those emotions rushing back. I felt the weight of knowing he’s my last, and I cried about that too.
I finally managed to tell my husband about your remark when he got home. It took a lot of effort, but I showed him the dress. “Oh, you don’t look pregnant,” he reassured me. “That dress just has a front pleat, which can make things look bigger underneath.”
My friends tell me I’m beautiful; they agree that you were out of line and that I look fantastic. My husband echoes this sentiment. You may have planted seeds of doubt in my mind, but I refuse to let your words define me. I am fabulous, regardless of any extra curves I may have. I often admire curvy women and find them beautiful. The only real issue here is that there was an inconsiderate person scrutinizing my body, someone who fails to grasp that making assumptions about others is not acceptable. Your comments can go away. I look great, no matter my size.
I will not allow your words to control my self-image. This body is mine, and I am reclaiming it. Yes, I will continue to wear that dress with confidence.
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In summary, assumptions can hurt; it’s essential to be mindful of our words. I choose to embrace my body, love myself, and wear what makes me feel fabulous.