As soon as a pregnant woman’s baby bump becomes noticeable, she quickly realizes that everyone around her seems eager to share their opinions, ask questions, or offer unsolicited advice. From well-intentioned suggestions like, “Make sure to rest now, because you’ll never get a moment to yourself again,” to inquiries about the baby’s gender or comments on her growing belly, it can feel overwhelming. While some of these comments may come from a good place, they can also be quite irritating or even hurtful.
I used to be one of those people who casually engaged in conversations about pregnancy without thinking twice. However, my perspective shifted dramatically during my second pregnancy when I faced an unimaginable situation. At 20 weeks, I learned that my baby girl was unlikely to survive due to a severe heart defect. The prognosis was grim, and I spent the following 12 weeks in a state of constant worry, waiting to see if she could hold on long enough to be born.
Despite the support from family and friends, who were aware of my circumstances, my baby bump didn’t broadcast the tragic truth. I was still subjected to the usual questions that felt like daggers to my heart. “You must be so excited!” a cheerful cashier exclaimed at the grocery store. In reality, “excited” was far from how I felt; “terrified,” “heartbroken,” and “overwhelmed” were much closer to the truth.
At a toddler group, another expectant mother asked, “Have you set up the nursery? What stroller did you choose?” To her, I appeared to be another glowing mom-to-be, but the reality was that I was battling grief and uncertainty. I could either share the harsh reality or play along with the façade of excitement. I chose the latter, thinking it would spare both me and others from discomfort.
After I lost Grace, my appearance didn’t immediately reflect my loss. My body was slow to recover from the caesarean, and I often found myself looking pregnant due to lingering weight. When out with my toddler, people continued to ask when I was due, assuming I was still expecting. A few times, I responded honestly, stating, “I’m not pregnant,” which led to awkward silences and hurried exits.
Eventually, I reverted to my old strategy of pretending to be excited about my pregnancy. It felt so unfair that I had to mask my true feelings, but it was easier than explaining my grief to strangers. I longed to share Grace’s story with those close to me, not with casual acquaintances.
As the months passed, I realized I couldn’t handle the reminders of what I had lost, so I began to avoid social outings. I started dieting and exercising to shrink my belly, not because I wanted to, but because I hoped it would allow me to step out without the burden of awkward questions.
Every baby bump tells a story, and while many of them are filled with joy, we never truly know what others are experiencing. Assumptions can lead to hurt feelings, and I learned the hard way to be cautious with my words. I don’t harbor any anger toward those who inquired about my pregnancy; it’s simply socially acceptable to discuss this topic. However, I now believe we should reconsider how we approach conversations about pregnancy.
So, if you spot me at a café or playgroup and I don’t comment on your beautiful bump, please understand. It’s not that I’m uninterested; I’m just being careful. You might not want to share your story, and that’s perfectly okay. Unless you choose to open up, your journey is yours alone.
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Summary
Conversations regarding pregnancy can often touch on sensitive subjects. After experiencing a heartbreaking loss during my second pregnancy, I have learned the importance of being mindful about discussing such personal matters. While I used to engage in casual inquiries about pregnancy, I now choose to refrain from commenting, recognizing that every journey is unique. It’s essential to approach these situations with empathy and understanding.