Please Don't Ask....

Belly Shots. I don't want to do them. Please don't ask me. It's not that I am denying the wonders of pregnancy, or hiding in shame. It's like wearing hot pink lipstick, some people just can't carry it off without looking like a Vegas street walker. I just can't carry it off - gracefully.

Am I opposed to them? No. Some women, like the one pictured here, enjoy their first photo shoot with ample cleavage. They have skinny little arms and grow a mini basketball in their tummy that is nearly universally deemed "cute." No stretchmarks, furry or lined bellies, or red veiny road-map-like nasty things cover their tum. And good for them. *sarcastic "thumbs up"*

Somehow, the fat stays off their face and sticks straight onto the baby, they look great in spandex which reveal their precious bump, and it resembles a bouncy ball more than, say, a tripled batch of white, pasty, bread dough. Their children exit like the plant from Mary Poppin's carpet bag, leaving no evidence behind that they were ever gestating. Whoopedeedo for you.

I - on the other hand - don't get pregnant this way. I get pregnant in a way that resembles Jabba the Hutt. Pregnant all over. Big face, fat butt. When I see photos of myself, it isn't a "Awww, remember when?!" It is very literally a "WHAAAH!!! GAAAH! Who took this?! Lets destroy it before someone is traumatized for life..."

So, at least for endearing belly shots, please understand that it's just... not for me. Also, just so you know, pregnancy for me is not a fun, tummy-bearing adventure. I ache, I barf, I retain the Atlantic Ocean in fluid, and feel ridiculously tired and cranky. Right now, even as I write, I am at that stage of pregnancy where my arm starts to puff up like a Cabbage Patch doll, and I've just about lost all indications that I ever had ankle bones.

To this end, I have a particular hatred for those that love pregnancy. If you deem it "the best you've ever felt in your entire life!" and "would do it 100 times if I could!" I currently want to rip your face off with my bare hands.

So, please, no cameras, no request, and no stories of how you loved every minute of your pregnancy. Give me a year, and I might - eventually - even admire your professional cute bump photos. But for now, just keep a safe distance, and don't ask. Forewarned is forearmed. Or else, in the words of the great Jabba the Hutt(loosely translated from Huttenese): "There will be no bargain, young Jedi. I shall enjoy watching you die."