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These days I am sporting a little bump. I gave in to maternity pants last week and they are so much more comfortable than my regular pants digging into my ever expanding waistline. I am also no longer dressing to hide the bump since pretty well all of my important friends and family know, plus majority of my coworkers. If you didn’t know me you probably wouldn’t take notice of the roundness in my belly but to me it is very apparent.
Most times I see my bump as the one tangible thing about this pregnancy (besides the pee sticks, ultrasounds, heartbeat on the doppler, physical symptoms, ect). I marvel at it in the mirror because it is just so weird to watch my body change.
Yet, when I am in places that pregnant woman frequent (maternity stores, Babies R Us, my OB’s office) I feel inadequate, I wish my bump were bigger, more apparent. I know I’ll get there, and then I’ll wish it weren’t so big and cumbersome. But right now I look to my little bump as physical evidence that, yes I am a pregnant woman, and I do belong. As J said to me the other weekend when I declined parking in the expectant mothers spot (which will not happen until I am approximately the size of a whale), I look to my bump to reassure me, but I am in fact, pregnant.