The collective pregnancy rants topic of the moment: unauthorized belly touching.
I am not in favor. I need to end this ridiculousness.
I am totally fine with Vor touching. He should be touching. He touches all the time. My mom did it without asking, and while it made me uncomfortable, hey, it’s my mom. It has nothing to do with my mom, but the fact I have issues about being touched. So, my mom and dad his mom, and our siblings get free touches.
There was no holding off my cousins and second cousins and aunts and uncles when I went to my family reunion. But I am pretty close with all of them, and they’re family. Again, I know I have touching issues. I made the decision ahead of time to be okay with it, and overrode the uncomfortableness.
People who are friends either know me well enough to know that it is not okay, have been given permission, or have been told that it is unacceptable.
Not okay are complete and utter strangers. For example, the random creepy guy on the street who comes at me with his hands out. I used my best rude aggressive lawyer voice, asked what exactly he thought he was doing, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
Here’s the category I have a hard time with: the acquaintances. The people I have to interface with to get my job done. Okay, fine, specifically, the court clerks and bailiffs and court reporters. I have to be really really fall down friendly nice to these people. They make the wheels go around in the courthouse and if they don’t like you, those wheels grind to a halt. I am more than happy to tell them fun details, spin around in a circle so they can see the increasing size, and tell them due dates, what the room looks like, etc. Rubbing my belly? No.
There have been two offenders so far. First, is one who came up and more scratched my stomach rather than rubbed it. I smiled at her and stepped back, but I really don’t dare do anything more than that.
The second one is worse and is getting on my nerves, because there have been two touching offenses. The first time she rubbed the bump, I was so shocked that she was doing it, I didn’t react. Then she proceeded to tell me that I should name the baby after her. I left pissed, and Vor had to hear me rant about it.
The second time, she caught me unaware again, as I was having a conversation with opposing counsel—you know, those crazy things we lawyers do and WE DON’T LIKE TO BE ITNERRUPTED WHILE DOING THEM?—and she cut in between us and stood in front of me, rubbed the belly and told me it must be a girl because I was carrying low and wide.
I was all (in my head) Listen b!itch, it’s a girl because her daddy’s sperm’s DNA said so, and for no other reason. And she’s low because I’m freaking short. And she’s wide because I have no torso, I’m all leg. Outwardly, I smiled and backed up. Then she has the nerve to say (1) that I should name her after her, again, and (2) you can really only just tell that I’m pregnant, not fat.
BUT SHE IS A CLERK AND I CANNOT DO ANYTHING OTHER THAN SMILE.
The normal side of me wants to say, Please don’t do that. The hateful side of me wants to slap her hands away next time. The passive aggressive side of me wants to rub her stomach and see how she likes it. The really non confrontational side of me wants to just ignore it and seethe underneath. The balanced side of me is thinking about lying, and saying the doctor said no rubbing, because it is starting to cause Braxton Hicks.
Then, of course, God struck me down for thinking that, because now I have to started to get Braxton Hicks contractions.
She is clearly going to do it again. I am less annoyed by the somewhat rude comments than I am the fact she thinks she is free to touch MY STOMACH. Not hers, mine. And because I need her to make my job easier, and she could make my life a living hell, I don’t know how to deal with it.
Fun with Food and Fitness
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