Rub your tummy, just like this.Rub it all day long!Rub,rub,rubba,rub. Play and sing along. The Muppets

I have a tummy.
It’s not huge just yet, but it’s there.
I’m still trying to get acquainted with my tummy.
It’s a very strange situation.

For all this time, I’ve lived with the typical young girl’s idea that having a tummy is a bad thing.
If you’re a guy, you’re supposed to have a washboard tummy, and if you’re a girl, you’ve got to have a smooth, flat one.
If you have a tummy (due to eating too much or being out of shape), you MUST hide it. The public must NEVER know of your shameful, protruding abdomen.
If you’re trying to impress someone, Girl, you have to SUCK.IT.IN.

And now, I have a tummy.
I tried to suck it in, but it’s unsuckable.
I find myself trying to conceal it but bending a bit (my posture is definitely suffering) or fluffing-out my shirt...
But the tummy still pokes it way out.

It’s there. And it makes me self-conscious.
I keep thinking people are looking at me and smirking about how fat I am and I have to resist the urge to mutter non-stop 'I'm pregnant, I’m pregnant'.

I’ll be in a crowded lift and accidentally bump my tummy on someone and I’ll get all embarrassed. Apa lah, Diha. So what if you have a tummy?
It’s supposed to be there la, for heaven’s sake, you’re 4 months pregnant!

I have GOT to cleanse my brain off the superficial-madness of having No Tummy. I should be PROUD of my bump.
Be like Angelina Jolie and wear tight lycra clothes to show it off. Perhaps not.
I think I’ll settle for the Catherine Zeta-Jones look and wear nice clothes that don’t HIDE the bump but don’t SHOVE it in people’s faces either.

It’s a funny feeling. Being bloated all the time.
This distended belly can get pretty distracting for a 1st-time mom.
I find myself putting my palms on my belly and asking myself "Is that you, baby? Or is it that the huge plate of pasta I just ate for lunch?"

I also have a tough time trying to get comfortable. I usually sleep best sprawled on my back, all stretched out with my legs apart and my arms akimbo (not very ladylike, I know). Now, with a tummy, this is a very unpleasant position to be in. I get breathless after a while and my back will ache like crazy. So I find myself sleeping so primly on my side, with my legs together and my hands folded under my cheek. Wan finds it so amusing... That the baby is turning me into a lady. Hmph.

I am also baffled as to how to wear my pants. Over the bulge or under the bulge. Sometimes it’s more comfortable over, sometimes under. It’s good that these pregnancy pants are adjustable.

And my tummy is getting a lot of attention.

My husband occasionally glances at it and beams with pride, like my tummy is his very own masterpiece. Though I suppose, it IS... sort of.
Sometimes, when we’re in the car, he places his free hand on my tummy and pats it affectionately. I think I preferred the courting days when his free hand was elsewhere. (On my hand laaa. Get your mind out of the gutter... Yes,YOU.)
There was one evening as we were in bed, winding down to sleep. Wan propped himself up with his elbow, bent his head near my reclining body... and sang to my tummy. He sang an entire song to my perut. It was disturbingly sweet. He used to serenade me, but now only my abdomen gets the pleasure.

My tummy gets attention from Well-Meaning Makciks too.
Remember them?
They’re the ones who pestered me during my single days about ‘the necessity to get married and to get married SOON’. The ones who offered unsolicited advice regarding my beauty regime during wedding preparations. The ones who whispered bedroom secrets in my ears to ‘prepare me for my wedding night’.
Now, these Well-Meaning Makciks have something new to focus on. Yup, my perut.

They use me and my tummy to predict the baby’s gender.

"E ee Dihaaa... You’re looking so neat. It’s going to be a boy. If one is having a girl, she’ll take away all her Mama’s beauty. You’d be all frumpy and messy. This one is definitely a boy."

"Hmm... let me look at you. You’re so neat! Hidung tak kembang, kaki tak bengkak, perut pun bulat comel... Mesti baby girl nih."

"Mediha Mahmood, let me feel that tummy. (((Uncomfortable pause as I get groped by a 60-year-old woman))) Bulatnyer perut... no bumps. Besar kat atas... ni mesti girl ni"

"Hah? You tak nak makan asam? Meh sini, auntie nak rasa (((Uncomfortable pause as I get groped by a 50-year-old stranger I met in the lift))) Oohhh... bulat besar nih... very taut. You’re going to have a boy, dear"

It’s all very confusing.

I’d like to know my baby’s gender, actually.
Gives me time to plan stuff to buy and to adapt to having a son/daughter around. My mom never wanted to know any of our genders... she preferred to have an element of surprise. But I think Wan and I would like to know. Then I can start calling the baby by name instead of ‘Baby’ all the time.

And I can stop people from playing guessing games while gawking at my tummy.

Rub your tummy, just like this.
Rub it all day long!
Rub your tummy, rub it hard,
While we sing our song.
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub
Pay and sing along.