I know how babies are made.

One of my professors last year, a sweet and shrewd woman, shared with the small class that she was pregnant. Since it was a seminar class and we had already discussed numerous socio-political issues, she talked about how awkward it was that people had such access to her body. I’ve been thinking a lot about what she said, and it’s true. Pregnancy is an outward, visible sign of something personal and private. When I wear my maternity tops to school or work, people notice. They don’t gawk or gasp, but I am aware of the long glances. Once my belly is enormous, I will wear a shirt that says, “I know how babies are made.”

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