This weekend, I went to a shower for a fellow infertile. J is 28 weeks pregnant with a little girl, conceived via IVF at the same clinic where I went.
Before I say anymore, I should stop and say how lovely the shower was. Her sister and mother put in a lot of effort into making the party very nice. They did a spa theme, complete with candle and lotion giveaways. There was a yummy chicken salad, croissants, some amazing fruit tarts, and cheese and crackers. The cake was gorgeous. The shower was at her house, so we got to peek at the nursery, which is beautiful.
It wasn't too large of a group, so I didn't feel lost in the crowd. She got some really great gifts and was gracious during the opening. The shower game wasn't too cheesy (a purse scavenger hunt) and I knew several of her other friends. I got to hold a five week old little boy for about twenty minutes and I gobbled up every single second with him.
Okay, but you know this is going somewhere, and it is.
If one more person at that shower asked me if I was sure about my due date or if it is twins or not, I was going to scream. It started right off the bat, when I came in and the great-grandma-to-be asked me when I was due. I told her and her eyes bugged out of her head. She called J over, who is not showing very much at all, even at 28 weeks. Honestly, she doesn't even look pregnant. So, of course, Grandma starts exclaiming over how huge I am. She asks if the due date is wrong or if it's twins. She is gesturing for others to come over and compare my monstrousity of a belly with J's teeny tiny little bump. J was great, trying to get her grandma to talk about something else, but of course, she kept on going.
Finally, I managed to disengage myself from that lovely little conversation, only to have it repeated about ten times over the course of the shower. I just stuck to my usual responses:"My doctor says I am measuring just fine." "I have a forward tilting uterus." "I've been waiting for this for so long, I am glad to have a big bump so people know that I am pregnant."
I really tried not to let it get to me, but it was kind of an ego buster. My husband pointed out that they were talking about my stomach, but when I hear the word huge, I think about my chubby cheeks (north and south) and how my thighs rub together when I get out of the shower. I feel large and in charge, and I have a lot of growing left to do.
The icing on the cake was when another friend tried to take my picture. She took one shot, looked at it, shook her head, took another. Then another. I looked at the pictures on the viewfinder and my face looked so round and puffy. It probably didn't help that I was holding a plate piled with food. They were not flattering pictures. I made her delete them.
I cried on the way home. I did not want to obsess about my weight. I wanted to be happy with my healthy, growing baby. But I did not expect to hear all of these size comments. I did not know how they would affect me. I don't want to complain about something so trivial. I actually think that my belly is beautiful. When I look at it in the mirror, it looks like the pregnant belly that I have always wanted. But then people start commenting, and I lose that self-confidence.