Tag Archives: Gut

My Eyes Are Up Here

I finally know what it must be like for women with big breasts. Not because I’m getting busty–although I finally do fill an A cup–but because no one can look me in the eyes anymore. Everytime I talk to someone they first look down to see if my pregnant gut is sticking out and then to my eyes, back to my gut and then back to my eyes again. Some don’t even waste their time with my face. From the moment they see me, they zero in on my mid-section and won’t stop until they’ve come face to face with it, measured its progress, decided if it’s a girl or a boy and made a comment on if it looks the right size for my stage of pregnancy. Others act like pervs–being sneaky about it like it’s dirty or something, trying to get a sideways look, or waiting until I look away for a second so I don’t catch them take a peak at the abyss of my belly. But you know what? Don’t trouble yourself…look at my stomach! Here ya go world, it’s yours to gawk at. I won’t get offended. It’s not like it’s mine anymore. I don’t even mind people touching my belly. Hell, I’m grabbing people’s hands and making them feel what resembles a plastic guard in my stomach. Why? Because I don’t want to be the only one going through this!

So yes, I understand. You just want to see if my pregnancy this whole time has been real, or be the first one to catch the bump, or revel in the progression of your friend looking like all those other women called mothers that you’ve only heard about but never known in person outside of your own mom. It’s all just weird. Of course you gotta look. I look at it every morning and every night. This week in particular it popped out further than ever. It’s official…I’m pregnant and I’m freaking out! My clothes are no longer fitting and I’m looking like all those women I see at the malls and grocery stores with basketballs in their bellies. I’m one of them now and I can’t stop looking! So go for it. Look. Or take a picture–it’ll last longer. No wait, I already did.

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Pregnant Lady Gut

Last week I brought up two things that our culture asks pregnant women to change: their tendency to talk about their feelings and their views on their bodies. After enough talk on talk, this week let us discuss, Le Gut.

Along with Le Thighs and Le Ass, Le Gut has never been a friend of mine or of any woman’s. Yes it is so sensual, so laissez-faire as it rides over low-rise jeans after a filling holiday meal, but like  dealing with a French man on your first visit to Europe, you are constantly reminded to keep it at bay with rigorous all-American exercise and strict pilgrim-like puritanical abstinence. From a young age we are prepared for the battle with our guts through instructions on sit-ups, crunches and Shape magazine articles with year-round ten new tips to bikini abs. And so we work-out, cut ourselves off from lady friends who lunch on guilty caloric pleasures, sacrifice Doritos for baby carrots and then we get pregnant and we’re told, “Forget all the work you’ve done, love that big belly of yours!” What? Does being a baby incubator make me no longer a woman? Don’t I still want to look good? Oh but you will. Once a woman gets preggers you see, we are all re-brainwashed to now believe that everyone finds nothing more attractive than a pregnant gut. To say otherwise is a horrible faux-pas that shows you to be unenlightened to the ways of womanhood and could get you banned from any upcoming baby showers (that last part I know is not much of a deterrent, but still, just in case). So agree with it, pregnant bellies are so beautiful, so natural. Yes, and so was my non-pregnant belly gut, but no one said how beautiful or sexy it was when it squeezed on out my ironic baby T’s back in the 90’s!

As someone who used to be at one time forty pounds heavier (on my frame = 6 dress sizes larger) without a baby inside, this whole, “Miracle of life makes my gut okay,” is hard to accept. Maybe getting fat is an exciting new adventure for skinny ladies who have never struggled with their weight, but for those of us who have worked hard to trim down and undo years of bad eating habits and lifestyle choices, the idea of purposefully putting on pounds is not cool. It’s like asking a recovering alcoholic to suddenly stop their sober lifestyle and start drinking a glass of booze a day. Hey but in 9 months, no worries, you’ll be back to normal!  Oh really?

Now I understand that expecting mothers are not asked to get fat for fat sake, it’s just enough weight to help feed the baby and your new babymaking machine of a body. But still, part of you is gonna get larger than usual. Your arms, your legs. Madonna got fat arms. Hilary Duff got fat legs. I even had a friend who got a fat nose!  Of course I’ll do what I have to do to make sure our baby is healthy and out of me, but please, oh please don’t tell me not to worry and just let my body do its thing. And definitely don’t ask me to suddenly find the larger me gorgeous. Isn’t that sort of a stretch? No pun intended. I see these women who get obsessed with this new weird shape they take on and even go so far to try and make it sexy. Why? Is it really? Or is it because as women we always have to feel that we are in a state of sexy at all times. What if we’re not sexy when we get knocked up, or beautiful–would that be so awful? I do acknowledge that there are some women who look absolutely precious with their big alien-like extended bellies. Although I think that has something more to do with those sweet goofy smiles they get when they talk about being pregnant than the belly itself. Oh wait…no it is the belly. ‘Cause it’s pretty funny to see a good friend with a big ol’ Buddha belly walking around. So cute. But beautiful? Sexy?

I’d rather not try to make it something it’s not. How about instead of fetishizing it with sexy belly shots, just look at it for what it is–a part of life and our bodies. Ears for instance are not that exciting to look at and not all that particularly beautiful, but I don’t go out and prove otherwise by taking a sexy or sweet photo of my ears. No I’ll stick to knowing that what I have to look forward to is nothing more than the perfect extended tight gut needed for that beer-drinking trucker costume I’ve always wanted to pull off at Halloween. When the time comes, I hope to neither love Le Gut, nor hate it, but just let it be. And instead of fretting over making it out to be more than it is, I say as the French would say, “C’est la vie.”

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