Member-only story
To the Man Who Asked Me if I was Pregnant
I have words for you now that I can safely say them
I first saw you inside the gas station. Your daughter was trying to get your attention by asking you to guess what flavor soda she picked out. You ignored her.
Outside, when you told me my daughter was cute, at first I thought it was nice. But when you followed it up with a note about how hard it will be once she gets to be your daughter’s age, and “Good luck! HAHA,” I was ready for our conversation to be over, so I continued to walk with my husband and daughter away from your vehicle.
That should have been your cue to stop talking to me.
But then you asked me if I’m pregnant with my second child. It got my attention so I turned around to look at you. You then said, “or are you still trying to work off the weight from your first kid?”
I reacted violently, but you only heard a sliver of what went on in my head. I swore at you in front of your family and mine. I wish I didn’t do that. I wish that on top of the hurt, I didn’t feel regret, too.
When you commented on the way my body looked, you violated me. You not only studied my body close enough to make an assessment — the thought of which makes my skin crawl — but you felt like it was your business to say…
