THE BUMP BOASTING BRIGADE!
Pregnancy used to be the one time when women DIDN’T worry about their figure. Not any more, thanks to the rise of . . .
ONCE upon a time, before the invention of the internet and Instagram, being pregnant was a relatively straightforward experience for most women. Assuming that one didn’t suffer from too many complications, it could be a cosy, rather magical time, during which the normal pressures of being female — concerns about one’s weight and appearance — were temporarily suspended. You were making a whole new human, for God’s sake: time to relax.
Alas, no more. Not only are all modern pregnancies — famous or otherwise — chronicled in exhaustive detail via various social media platforms, but the days of drifting around in some vaguely diaphanous kaftan eating cake for breakfast are long gone.
Any sort of confinement — either social or physical — is seen as impossibly retrograde. Baby-bragging is the name of the game, and some women are making a virtual Olympic sport out of it.
The rules of engagement are simple, but fiendish. First, you must be willing to subject practically every inch of your body to the unforgiving gaze of the high-resolution paparazzi lenses without betraying even the smallest pocket of additional adipose tissue or, heaven forfend, orange peel skin.
Your bump must be large enough to notice, but not so large as to seem vulgar. Every other part of your body must remain exactly as it was before you became pregnant. Common side-effects of pregnancy, such as swollen ankles or fat arms, are a definite no-no, as is any kind of incremental circumference in the bottom department.
Above all, you must create an appearance of blissful joy and absolutely not betray any sense of hormone-induced hysteria or generalised baby-brain.
Front-runner in the bump-boasting brigade is Abbey Clancy, the model wife of footballer Peter Crouch. Lovely Abbey, 32, announced the gestation of the couple’s fourth child almost a year to the day after the birth of their third, Johnny, in January last year (they also share daughters Sophia, seven, and Liberty, three).
This was done, naturally, via an Instagram post that saw her cradling her minuscule bump in an equally tiny leopardprint bikini, silhouetted against palm trees from the location of the family’s luxury winter getaway in Dubai.
Later, she struck a series of photogenic poses on the beach in a smaller-still white two-piece, her aura of maternal magnificence augmented by glowing, perfectly toned limbs, regulation blonde bombshell hair and professional pout.
She’s not the only celebrity to flaunt her fertility in recent days. Tana Ramsay, wife of chef Gordon, took to Instagram this week to reveal that she is expecting the couple’s fifth child, proudly displaying a stylish and well-pronounced bump in the family’s New Year’s Day celebrations.
Meanwhile, the Duchess of Sussex, protectively patting her bump at every opportunity, is proceeding in a similar vein, complete with uncompromising 5in heels and form-fitting wardrobe. Models Vogue Williams and Glenda Gilson both posed with their bumps while pregnant, looking gorgeous, toned and fit. Impressive as all this may seem, it does rather feel like yet another nail in the coffin for normality. Certainly, it hardly reflects most people’s experience. And, while women are not stupid — we all recognise that most pregnant women don’t have on-hand an army of chefs, personal trainers, stylists and funds galore like some of this lot do — it’s still hard not to feel a twinge of inadequacy at the sight of these ‘model’ mothers-to-be.
THERE never used to be this much pressure. Or, frankly, interest. My mother said that when she was pregnant with me, she went to see the doctor, who confirmed the news — and told her to come back when she was due.
Now, a process that women have undergone for millennia seems to require almost constant intervention. As for scrutiny, there were always those women who
seemed to ‘snap back’ into shape impossibly effortlessly before their babies had even had their second set of jabs — but pregnancy itself was off-limits. It was considered a private, rather personal experience — not necessarily something you needed or wanted to hide, but not something you wanted to flaunt, either.
A woman basically had permission to eat, sleep and slob around in slippers as much — or as little — as she wanted. It was fine to get a little plump, a little fuzzy around the edges.
As for style, there was little pregnancyspecific fashion. When I was first pregnant, 16 years ago, the choice was essentially Mothercare or the plus-size section of Marks & Spencer. Now, everywhere from Topshop to Zara, via high-end brands such as Seraphine and Isabella Oliver, seems to cater for style-conscious pregnant women.
Many would argue that this is progress — and it is, of sorts, providing you want to spend a fortune on clothes you are only going to wear for a few months. It makes the whole process harder for the majority of women for whom being pregnant is not just another opportunity to show the world how slim/beautiful/rich they are, but an experience they would prefer to keep to themselves and their loved ones.
As for the pressure to be perfect, it extends to the one area of a woman’s life previously untroubled by such things.
Now, the first thing you are told when you get pregnant is that ‘you are not eating for two’. The entire process has become hideously judgmental from start to finish, from how much weight you may or may not gain, to how much exercise you do, how well you maintain your pelvic floor and, of course, the manner in which you give birth.
The fact is, pregnancy varies wildly from woman to woman. Some love it, some hate it, most of us are somewhere in-between.
But the one thing it should not be is a competition. And, in this selfie-obsessed age, that’s exactly what it has become.