Nearing in on 30 weeks, I’ve been fortunate to experience an easy pregnancy so far. Despite the warnings to “enjoy the sleep now!” (sorry, what sleep?) and unsolicited insistence to “put your feet up!” (I’m fine and capable of taking care of myself, thanks!), I’ve felt happy and relatively comfortable the past six months—as comfortable as one can feel carrying around something the size of an acorn squash in their uterus.
The real discomfort has come in the form of palms descending like vultures to cop a feel of my expanding midsection. Ahh, belly touching. It’s something I thought I was prepared for—and yet. It’s 2023, so why are we still groping pregnant people’s bellies without permission?