Wednesday, March 12, 2008

I’ve grown accustomed over the years to comments about my arm size on the occasions when I have my blood pressure tested. Given that these occasions have been infrequent and spread out thinly over several years, I’ve never thought much about them. Over the past four months of being pregnant, however, I’ve had a barrage of blood pressure tests. There are the usual “Wow, you have slim arms,” and “Gee, I might have to use the child-size equipment for you.” But some of the comments are starting to make me feel like I have arms in the same proportion to my body as a Tyrannosaurus Rex does with his body. Poor T-Rex with his useless little arms. The comment that topped them all was the nurse who looked at my bicep (or apparent lack thereof) and said “Oh my goodness! Your arms are so tiny. How are you ever going to look after a baby?!” I don’t know. Maybe I should start looking for a nanny with good strong arms right now.
But then again, I might turn out okay. When I was born, the nurses apparently made quite a scene about my gargantuan feet. I was the talk of the Royal Columbian nursery and all of the nurses had to sneak a peak of my feet. If only I could track them down now and show them my diminutive size eight feet. If not quite diminutive, then at least average and perfectly acceptable.
I’ve also experienced an array of comments in the past few weeks about my expanding belly, some more flattering than others. “You’re starting to get a pot belly,” for example, was not an observation that needed to be shared with me. Nor was “You’re starting to pouch out a bit.” ‘Baby bump” is a much safer option if you are commenting on someone’s newfound rotundity.
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