Don’t ask about a pregnancy
RIHANNA’S half-time show during the Super Bowl was breathtaking for many reasons. She was finally back! She was flying above crowds on a tiny clear platform. She was showcasing what appeared to be a … belly.
My first reaction was delight that she was not afraid to show off her postpartum baby bump. That thought was drowned out by a buzzing group chat: “So do we all think Rihanna is pregnant? She was amazing!” a friend texted.
Another responded: “My daughters say I should not comment because she should tell us, not have us speculate.”
Some agreed with my friend’s daughters. After years of people commenting on my possibly pregnant, newly pregnant, miscarriage-suffering, largely pregnant, postpartum body, I can tell you this: You don’t ask about a pregnancy until a person explicitly invites it, or is holding a child in their arms.
I had parking attendants (more than one) congratulate me for my upcoming baby when no baby was on the way. I had one kind woman tell me I was glowing – as I was in the process of miscarrying. A lovely colleague, who congratulated my husband and myself on a crowded elevator at work, and gestured to my midsection when I was far from wanting to tell anyone.
Often, I was more embarrassed for the person pointing to my pregnancy, real or imagined. And I know in most cases, it came from a good place. But soon, it just felt like what it was an invasion – both physical and emotional.
“Women should have agency over when we reveal such transformative news,” says Jessica Zucker, a psychologist specialising in reproductive health in Los Angeles, and the author of I Had a Miscarriage.
“It’s such a profound moment in our lives, whether we had losses ourselves, heard tragic stories, or don’t want to reveal it.”
Mona Benach remembers when she was eight weeks pregnant with her third child (who is now 15) and the day a care provider pulled her aside and said: “You’re not pregnant again, are you?” She lied and said she wasn’t.
“I just wasn’t ready to reveal it yet and especially because I had a miscarriage before.”
Pregnancy, or the spectre of it, somehow invites touches, stares and comments like none other. And this happens at the most vulnerable of times.
“The interesting thing is how our culture feels like it’s okay to look at women’s bodies, to analyse bodies, in a time of fertility, pregnancy and postpartum,” says Michelle Cohen, a birth and postpartum doula in DC.
“It keeps people’s bodies in a place of objectification. It’s dangerous because we are not always privy to people’s stories, so we have no idea what their journey has been.”
Such was the case with Emily DiDonna, an educator in Boston, who spent more than five years of excruciating IVF – lots of surgeries and hormones and miscarriage – before finally welcoming her son, who is now 8.
During those years, there were so many times when DiDonna was asked the question. Once, after suffering a loss, she and her husband left their house for the first time and she was greeted at a bakery by a woman who wrapped her hands around her belly and congratulated her.
She ran out of the building, crying. Several women who had endured pregnancy loss said they felt the sting of
invasive questions decades later.
Danielle Jernigan, a doula certified in perinatal mental health, said people needed to remember another person’s possible pregnancy was none of their business.
But more important than that, suggesting someone was pregnant could be a triggering experience.
“What if this person has experienced pregnancy loss? They can still be carrying their belly because of that,” she said.
“Even if they are pregnant, they might not want to talk about it because they’re not sure that pregnancy is viable. This might be their rainbow baby and they don’t want to talk about it because they are scared.”
Some prominent women have helped shift some of the conversation around pregnancy and bodies, reminding people that just because there’s a bump doesn’t mean there’s a baby.
Then-duchess Kate, despite looking flawless after giving birth just hours earlier, emerged from the maternity ward with her full baby bump on display.
Actress Jennifer Garner once said: “I am not pregnant, but I have had three kids and there is a bump,” after there was speculation she was pregnant again.
While you were pregnant, everyone said how beautiful and glowing you were, but the expectation to look like you never gave birth arrived as you left the hospital, Zucker said.
The pressure to bounce back can psychologically ravage women who had pre-existing body issues or even those who didn’t. The shape of our bodies shouldn’t return to what they were pre-pregnancy.
Lizzie Duszynski-Goodman, a writer in Chicago with two girls, now 8 and 4, was devastated when a stranger in an elevator asked her where she would be delivering her baby, three weeks after she delivered her baby.
“I responded with: ‘Don’t feel bad about this, but my baby is actually three weeks old.’ The woman had zero apologies for me, and when I got into my car, I broke down in tears and cried all the way home.”
For all the half-time watchers, Rihanna kept us guessing for a while. Even though she showcased her bump, even though said she was bringing a special guest.
Sure, she had a look about her, didn’t she? She sure seemed pregnant. But we didn’t know, not really. Not until her publicist announced she was, indeed, pregnant.
“It’s official!” I finally texted my group, when Rihanna made it official.
As it should be.