My (rather large) stomach.

Seriously, why do people think they can comment on the size of your stomach when you are pregnant?

I saw possibly the fattest woman in the world at the supermarket yesterday but I didn’t consider, not even for a moment, to say ‘oh my god, look at your stomach!’

It was tempting though, especially because she had way too many packets of Tim Tams in her trolley, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

Until I got home and ate my own packet of Tim Tams that is.

But apparently because I am pregnant it’s totally fine to comment on my stomach.

And my boobs.

Usually I just shrug, blush and feel like crying but hold it together (because no one likes a crying pregnant woman), or if it’s a close friend tell them to fuck off. But from now on I am going to try a new approach.

The following are some of the actual comments I have received. There have been more but these are some of the best. And below them are going to be my new responses.

Wow, you’re big aren’t you?

Wow, you’re a bitch aren’t you?’

Oh my god, look at your belly! It’s SO big!

Oh my god, look at your arse, it’s SO fucking huge!

Wow, you’re showing rather a lot aren’t you?

Wow, you’re showing how stupid you are, aren’t you?’

Far out mate, your boobs have got pretty big haven’t they?

Far out mate, your boobs have got droopy haven’t they?

Gee, you’ve got a 10 pounder in there!

Gee, you’ve clearly got no brain in there!

But the real killer is, they’re right. I am huge, my boobs are massive and it is likely to be a 10lb baby. With a HUGE head.

Fuckers.

HUGE thighs my (HUGE) arse.

One of my younger brothers is a ballroom and latin dancer. He’s very good at it but sadly, he knows it too.

Thankfully him and his ego live in a different city to me so I only really see him and our mother (and his dance partner and her mother) when there is a dancing competition on. They come with all their sequins and lycra, flaunt their stuff for a few days and then leave again.

The whole dance scene freaks me out a bit to be honest. I don’t know if it’s the fake tan glow which makes their skin more orange than an actual orange, the extremely tight and high waisted pants or the diamantes on their eyelashes – guys included – but they are scary people. The intensity and nastiness is worse than any corporate game playing I have ever encountered.

And shallow. My god. They are so shallow.

In preparation for them coming to stay I’d done some baking. (Secretly I was craving something sweet and I wanted to lick the egg beaters but I let them think the spread was in their honour).

Anyway, back to the shallowness. Over morning tea today I learned that apparently this girl, a former Miss New Zealand Universe, is FAT! With HUGE thighs!



Seriously, how fucked up is that?

At this point I wanted to get my brother, sit on him with my HUGE arse and stick said egg beaters up his nostrils.

But I didn’t.

Instead I just ate his brownie.