The unsolicited belly pat that comes with being pregnant

1 Comment | Oakland Tribune, Aug 11, 2007 | by Candace Murphy

IHAD MY FIRST unsolicited belly pat the other day.

Pregnant women warned me this would happen. In fact, when my sister-in-law found out I was expecting, she sent me a greeting card with several drawings of a pregnant woman on it and thought bubbles that she'd added by hand.

"Look, don't touch!" shouted one bubble drawn next the woman's head.

"My baby, my belly!" cried another.

Enclosed with the card came a book, called "Milk It," in which my sister-in-law had bookmarked an entire chapter on how to cope with complete strangers wanting to touch your belly.

Of all the mysteries of pregnancy, this belly touching business may be the topper. I mean, before this, I thought it was mystical enough that anyone ever got pregnant at all: That sperm and egg meet, make a zygote and get baked in a belly like some primordial ooze of a batter in an Easy Bake oven, and nine months later, presto! Happy Birthday Barbie Cake!

Er, I mean, presto, a baby.

Still, the phenomenon of the

unsolicited belly pat is simply remarkable. For some reason, complete strangers see these burgeoning bellies and just want to reach out and touch them.

In fairness, my belly pat didn't come from a complete stranger. It came from one of my neighbors. And there we were, at the bottom of my driveway, just chatting about neighborhood crime, how cute my dog is and remodeling projects -- that sort of thing -- when all of a sudden she started reaching toward my stomach as if reaching toward a plate that a Chevy's waitress had warned her not to touch because it's too hot.

"Ooooooh," she said before making contact. "Look at your stomach!"

Believe us, non-pregnant people, we pregnant people have looked at our stomachs. We can't help but look at our stomachs every day. Now, I don't mean this crankily. Because personally speaking, I'm kind of tickled every time I look at my stomach -- that may change in 10 weeks, but for now, hey, this Easy Bake oven is still a thrill -- so it's not so bad hearing a "look at your stomach" every once a while.

But the accompanying stomach pat? Really not necessary.

In fact, really weird.

Let me put it this way: Prior to my pregnancy, I'd never touched a pregnant woman's stomach. I didn't ask to touch a pregnant woman's stomach, I wasn't asked by a pregnant woman to touch her stomach, and I never, ever, felt it necessary to just go out and touch a pregnant woman's stomach without asking.

Life is not a petting zoo, after all.

But apparently, I missed the memo. Pregnant belly patting is all the rage.

Just yesterday, in fact, when my car broke down, and I pulled it all smoking and smelly into the nearest gas station, the mechanic took one look at me with dollar signs in his eyes and said,

"Pregnant?"

Seriously now, how much better could his day have gotten, what with a pregnant woman who couldn't immediately figure out how to pop the hood of her car pulling in with it smoking and all?

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, after he asked "Pregnant?" and I said, "Yes," he took a lingering look at my belly as if it were a cast-iron, sizzling plate of fajitas that couldn't possibly be as hot as it looked, and waggled a finger dangerously close to my midsection.

As it turns out, that bullet, I dodged. But probably only because he realized the mechanic's hand was oil-smudged and I was wearing a white sweater.

But still. What gives?

Now, I know, I'm new to this pregnant party and women have been suffering from prenatal pawing since God was a little girl. In fact, I can totally picture grunting, inquisitive cavemen in the Paleolithic period wondering why their women suddenly had these huge round stomachs and were having to stitch together ample-sized bearskins to accommodate their new girths.

"So that's where the extra bison cheeks from last weeks kill went," they growled as they lunged toward their women and went in for the unsolicited, and accusatory, belly pats.

Well, I have to say, I'm still at the amused stage when it comes to all this. And that's surprising, since not only did I have an unreasonable fear to touch my own belly before I became pregnant, but I recently read a Dear Abby column in which "Old Fashioned Grandma in South Carolina" said that the clothing that pregnant women wear "advertises their protruding bellies" and, in her opinion, "encourages people to notice and admire their bellies, implying there's an open invitation to touch them."

Whoa, Grandma. I bet lot of defendant's lawyers would want you on their juries in their sexual assault cases. Jeez. Can I borrow those maternity curtains you wore in 1930? I'm going to the supermarket, and heaven knows what I might be encouraging in this here Gap Maternity T-shirt that's sticking unseemingly to spots of my cocoa- buttered belly.

But amused I remain. For now. Because the errant belly pat from a well-meaning neighbor is sure a whole lot more palatable than the very able-bodied man who elbowed me out of the way to get the last seat on the BART train the other day.

A woman who saw the unsavory seating development gave me a knowing look and asked, kindly, "When are you due?"