What’s the big deal?

Last night I got a call from Reinout. I was in bed upstairs and he was on the sofa. As we haven’t figured out telepathy yet, mobile and skype are frequent means of communication within our three storey town house. Reinout was on the couch with the dogs and thought it was a brilliant opportunity for a Kodak moment. So I ran downstairs with my camera and luckily managed to get a few cute snaps. As we were sitting there we began talking. Lately there hasn’t been much opportunity for idle conversation, due to Reinout’s busy schedule and me slowing down to the pace of a snail. In other words we are rather out of sync. But this moment provided ample opportunity to talk. I began venting my concerns about tomorrow’s dinner (read today).  Our one-dinner-guest party had suddenly become a small soiree. I could use being tired as a valid excuse for cancelling (yet again) but there was more. I just didn’t want to show myself. In tune with my growing belly, I have become an utter recluse. New people I don’t mind seeing and friends and colleagues that I see on a daily/weekly basis are ok too. But I’ve grown averse to meeting people that I only see occasionally, or haven’t seen in a long time. Especially when they start commenting about my expanding body and belly. This is a very private space for me, and I don’t want peoples comments like I’m some freak on display.

We obviously had very different opinions on the matter, as Reinout felt people only commented as they cared. Whilst his rationale held up during the conversation I still see flaws in it. Why would non-commenting people be less interested in me than people with an outspoken opinion?  Perhaps the former is just too polite to get into the matter. Then I think it’s a question of culture too. Here in Holland, the whole pregnancy/baby thing is on so much display. Mothers openly compare birth stories and dissect their labour in hours, minutes and seconds. Too much information for me thank you.

Reinout made a point that I seem to think it’s ok to share my nude pregnancy picture with the rest of the world but I can’t handle someone touching my belly. Well it’s kind of like the no kiss rule if you’re a hooker (I only know this from theory having seen Pretty Woman!). A hand on my belly is way more intimate than someone seeing a nude pregnancy photo of me which I happen to think is rather beautiful and artistic.

The conclusion is: I may or may not share some intimate pregnancy moments, but it will be  on my terms. Until then please give me some privacy. I will be back to normal in February again.