Week 12: Starting to Show … Somewhere

At week 12, I’m finally starting to look a little pregnant. No, my belly’s not expanding – but my butt is. Normally I don’t spend too much time worrying about the size of my rear-end. After all, I don’t have to look at it. I can’t even see it unless I’m strategically positioned in front of a three-way mirror in a dressing room under harsh fluorescent lighting. And that’s when I try to avoid looking back there at all costs. No one needs that level of detail.

Anyway, I’ve always been pretty happy with my heinie. It fills out a pair of jeans, it’s comfortable to sit on for the duration of most domestic flights, and usually, it’s fairly toned from a regular regimen of squats and lunges. Not that I’d ever go strutting down a beach in a thong or anything – or even walk around my bedroom in broad daylight in front of the dog – but for the most part, I am at peace with my posterior. That is, until it started growing at a faster rate than any of my other pregnant body parts.

I guess I was so distracted by my newfound cleavage that I didn’t pay attention to other parts of my anatomy. I mean, sure, I’ve been checking my stomach for signs of growth, but that’s a given. (Nothing happening yet. I thought for awhile that my belly was beginning to pop, but it turns out I was just bloated.)

Then I saw a picture of myself in snug workout gear. It was my idea to have C. take a picture of me at the same time each month, in the same place, wearing the same outfit, to document my pregnancy. I thought it would be cute to look back and see how I’d grown. But I didn’t bank on my butt filling half the frame. Sure enough, I looked just about the same from my neck to my waist, but below the belt there was an unmistakable swelling in my Spandex.

Just to be sure, I asked C. what he thought. I KNOW, I broke the cardinal rule of coupledom: never, ever ask your man if your butt looks big. Except, I’m pregnant. It’s not like I’ve been hitting the Twinkies hard for no good reason. Everyone knows I’m going to gain weight; it’s what pregnant women do. Anyway, I just wanted his confirmation that my eyes weren’t in fact deceiving me. Maybe it was just a bad camera angle.

After an uncomfortable couple of minutes, C. reluctantly agreed with my initial hypothesis. “I guess now that you mention it, yes, it does look a little bigger. But you’re still not fat,” he rushed to add. “I probably wouldn’t even have noticed if you hadn’t drawn my attention to it.” But the damage was done.

I now had a witness to the fact that my ass had indeed begun to grow to gigantic proportions. Worse, I have photographic proof. And I’m only three months along! I shudder to think of the size my rump might reach by my third trimester. But you can bet your bottom dollar I’m staying away from three-way mirrors.