About a month ago I was going to the county pool a few times a week to swim, per the advice of my midwife. I'd been experiencing a lot of pain and discomfort in my hips and pelvis and she recommended this as a way to kind of work things out.
After a few weeks, I had gotten used to some of the faces of the people at the pool who came there at about the same time as me, and about as often. One day, as I was waddling out to the pool with my big tummy hidden in my maternity bathing suit, I walked by a lady I'd seen often, swimming in lane one. As I passed her, she said to me, "Fake pregnancy, huh?"
I said, "Excuse me?"
"I knew a lady just like you once. She told everyone she was pregnant, but she wasn't."
I said, "Are you telling me I'm NOT pregnant?" and she said, "Oh no, I'm just saying you're just like her."
I didn't know what to think of this, so I said, "Okay" and walked down to lane nine and got in the pool. After swimming a few laps, I looked over to lane one, and the lady was staring at me. I began to feel really uncomfortable, but went on swimming. I was taking a break at the end of my lane when I saw her get out of the pool, still staring at me very defiantly. She clasped her hands together and made a round gesture over her stomach, indicating a pregnant belly, then shrugged her shoulders and put her hands in the air as if to say, "Well?" then put her hands on her hips.
Again, I didn't know what to think of it. Eventually she actually walked down the length of the pool and stood at the end of my lane with her hands on her hips, waiting for me to swim back down. I didn't dare swim down. I was beginning to feel kind of threatened by this woman. I didn't know what her problem was with me, but evidently it had something to do with me being pregnant. I spoke to the lifeguard about her (he was sitting right next to me.) He told me that it was well known to the regulars and the employees there that she was schizophrenic. He had seen some, but not all of her behavior, and recommended I go talk to the pool manager.
By the time I got to the manager's office, I was really shaken up and began to cry. I told him about my exchange with the lady as I first entered the pool area, and then about her actions afterwards. He agreed that she was out of line and harrassing me. He then told me about two incidents with the woman previously, one in which she had stuffed a towel into her swimsuit to look pregnant and "strutted" around the aquatic center, and another where she had wrapped her towel up like a swaddled baby and carried it around cradling and talking to it.
To shorten the story, the manager of the pool and head of Cobb County Aquatics got in touch with me and promised to talk to the lady and ban her from the facility if necessary. I went to the pool one more time after that -with my mom - and the lady wasn't there.
I haven't been back since, more because it's become too much for me physically than because of fear, but the whole incident was very strange for more than the obvious reasons. See, when I first became pregnant, before I really began "showing", the enemy would come at me, whispering to me, "Why don't you quit telling people you're pregnant. You're just a big fake trying to get attention. You're not pregnant. There's nothing special about your situation." Sometimes it would be so bad I would cry and have these irrational thoughts that maybe I WASN'T really pregnant. I mean, I knew I had been, but maybe I wasn't now. Maybe the baby was just gone. The thoughts went away eventually, but I did become greatly relieved when I started showing and heard the baby's heartbeat. There was no trying to deny it anymore. I was definitely pregnant.
My encounter with this strange lady months after I had those thoughts brought the accusations back to me again, but this time I was able to dismiss them more easily. All the same, it shook me up and reminded me of the hatred of Satan for life.
. . . . . . .
Mark had the day off on Friday and we took Catri (who is on Spring Break) to the local mini golf and go-kart place to play for a few hours. Mark and Catri rode the go-karts and I went down to one of the viewing platforms to watch them.
As I was sitting there, a mom and her boy (probably about 10 years old) came down to watch the "racing". Shortly after them, a girl about 15 years old who was mentally and physically retarded came down to the platform with another boy that I think was her brother. The boy went back up to the upper platform with the rest of his family, but left the girl behind.
As the girl stood there, talking out loud to anyone and everyone in general, you could see the look on the mom and son's faces turn to annoyance. And honestly, I felt the same way. I could feel myself tensing up, bracing to be annoyed, or just simply made to feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to be bothered.
The girl began to ask a lot of questions, mainly directed to the mom and son, who were pretty much ignoring her. Suddenly she looked up and noticed me. Her eyes got huge, she smiled, and headed straight towards me with her hand out to touch my belly, saying, "You're pregnant!" I immediately grabbed her hand and said, "Yes, I am, but I don't want to be touched." Her face fell and she looked down at the ground and said, "Oh, I'm sorry." I could tell she was confused and felt ashamed. She continued to look at the ground and said, "Is it a girl or a boy?" I told her it was a girl.
She began to look at the go-karts, and began to ask questions again of the mom and son. Who was in that kart? Why were they going that way? Weren't they going fast? The mom and son were ignoring her. I began to feel so bad for the girl. Her inquiries were innocent enough, they were just constant is all. I began to answer her questions for her. She pointed to one of the karts and said, "Who is that man with the hat?" and I said, "That's my husband." Right then Mark's car stalled out and one of the track attendants had to come get him going again, and the girl and I speculated on what might have gone wrong. The race finally ended, so it was time for me to go, but I was feeling horrible about my earlier treatment of the girl.
So many of my friends have asked me since being pregnant if I was annoyed with people constantly touching my belly, and I've always answered that I don't mind if it's friends and family who do it, because it feels to me more like they're blessing me and the baby, but that I did have problems with strangers doing it. Thing is, though, no stranger has actually tried to touch my belly. Not until Friday. It was the first time I actually had the situation come up. And all I could think was, "Why don't I want to be touched? What's the big deal?"
As I stood there answering all the girl's questions about the go-karts, I felt horribly convicted. She was so innocent, asking questions about the world, delighting in it, and even taking delight in my big pregnant belly. I felt convicted of my selfishness, of my pride, of making her ashamed of wanting to touch my tummy. Finally I went up to her and said, "I'm sorry about earlier when you wanted to touch my belly. You can touch it if you want."
She said, "Really?" and put her hand on my tummy.
She said, "What is she doing?" and I said, "Nothing right now. I think she's asleep." She said, "Oh," smiled at me, then turned around to look at the go-karts again.
I turned around and headed out, passing the viewing platform where her family was. As I passed them, a girl looked at me apologetically and said, "I'm sorry, was my sister bothering you down there?"
I said, "No, not at all. She's sweet. She's really sweet."
I've been thinking about that girl ever since.
. . . . .
It's interesting how people react to a pregnancy. Sometimes I haven't known how to take it. As I've gotten bigger and bigger, I notice people staring at me more, and it makes me a little uncomfortable. I feel like a freak show.
When Bevin and I had our fun day out last week, I mentioned this to her, and she said something to the effect that people are just fascinated by the new life in a pregnant woman. I realize now there's something to that, although the looks on some people's faces seem to indicate disgust sometimes. But even then, there's something to that.
I remember two Christmases ago, when Mark and I had been married for just a few months, we went camping in Florida (since we didn't have Catri for the holiday) and one morning as we were lying in our tent, we talked about having kids. Mark asked me why it was important to me, and I told him that I felt like love had no choice but to create life. There is something about love, whether it be the love of God or the love of a man, that produces a desire for creation and creativity. God is love, and he
created man to pour his love into. A man will love a woman and will suddenly begin
creating poetry or music to woo her. A man and a woman will love each other, and their love will
create a new life in the form of a baby. In my mind, love is simply creative in nature. If you love, you have the desire to
create. I can't explain it further, I just feel like there's an inter-connectedness there.
And I guess, depending on a person's heart, whether it's under the sway of life-hating evil or under the sway of life-creating God, each person will react to that creation accordingly.
. . . . .
I've been very self-centered the past several months. I've never had a baby before, and everything that is going on in my body is very strange, very new to me. I talk all the time about myself, about what I'm going through.
But it's only been recently that I've become aware of the true significance of what's going on. The woman at the pool reminded me how much Satan hates love, creation, and life. The girl at the go-kart track reminded me how amazing and delightful what is going on with me really is. She reminded me that it's not really even about me. That there is a much bigger story being told through pregnancy. It's a reminder of life. Of the miracle of it, the truth of it and where it comes from.
When I was in Russia on a missions trip back in 1994, we visited an elementary school for a while one day while the kids were out at recess. In the middle of the play ground was a woman of about 40-something, standing there with a doll and a big smile on her face. She had some obvious mental issues, but none of the kids nor the teachers seemed disturbed by her being there. She came up to some of us and talked a bit, but I couldn't understand her very well, as my Russian was somewhat limited. Finally a little boy came up to me and said, "Be patient with her, she's been touched by God." I remembered then that I had learned in Russian class that St. Basil's Cathedral in Red Square was not named after any great priest or saint, but after a mentally retarded man, Basil, who begged outside of it as it was being built. Russians believed then and many still believe today that mentally retarded people are messengers of God, that they've been touched by God, that they have visions from God.
I felt very humbled by my messenger of God at the track. Very aware that the baby in my belly doesn't really belong to me, that I don't get to hoard her and the miracle she represents and only share it with a few friends and family. I can't hide the size of my belly, and I wonder if God doesn't make it that way so that people can't escape the truth of creation and life. People stare at me, they make comments, some reach out to touch me. There is something there that they can't deny, some truth that is very much in their face. I guess some people want to deny it, like the lady at the pool, but I think and hope that most people simply delight in it like the girl at the track.
I hope I can delight in it more as well, to not have such a small heart that only sees the little bubble world I've created around me, but to have a bigger heart that embraces people instead of pushing them away. God, give me a bigger heart.
