Posts by shadowbadger15

placidtinker31 said:🤣

I always tell everyone exactly how many pounds I’ve put on.
If anyone actually cares, I can give you my numbers too. 😁

It doesn't really matter anyway. In a year, they'll just be telling me how pathetic I look, how I barely eat anything, and how my kids have completely worn me out... 🙄

I always start at 115, and then the second I gain five pounds, suddenly I'm "filling out."
Meanwhile, the women who start at 155 act like they've lost a massive amount of weight when they barely change at all... 🤦

Honestly, people will always have something to say. No matter what you look like or what you do... just stick it in your ear and keep moving. 🙂

That is honestly one of the most stinging comments you can get. I feel my stomach growing, and then people hit me with that, "Oh, you've gotten a little rounder," or whatever... Like, excuse me? What is a pregnancy belly supposed to look like if not round?🤷 🤣

Justin Allen81 said:I found some weird comfort in what a friend told my husband—she mentioned how much weight she gained because she was basically skin and bones just three or four months after giving birth. Now, I’m just calculating exactly how many pounds I can pack on before I hit her level.😁

If she could drop it that fast, I should be able to too... theoretically... assuming I stop baking cookies every single day.🤣

Honestly, sweets aren't usually my main obsession—I eat them occasionally and call it a day—but during pregnancy? First time or this time around, it doesn't matter; I'd happily move into a bakery if they'd let me. I don't know what takes hold of me, but I am constantly craving pastries and cakes. Even this morning, in that half-asleep state where you haven't fully woken up yet but you remember everything from your dreams... I was dreaming about making a chocolate raspberry cake. I was actually mentally drafting a grocery list of ingredients for it. I woke up and spent at least another thirty minutes just debating whether I actually wanted it or not.🕺

From now on, I’m sending my husband to the store. I won't go myself, even if someone offered to pay me—I’d just end up walking out with a mountain of chocolate.🕺

That's exactly why we vent here—so we don't have to bother people in real life.😁

🤣

I'm right there with you—donuts, late-night bread rolls around midnight, and then 😲 when I step on the scale, I'm just staring at it thinking, how is this even possible? 😬

Honestly, things have been so much easier since I stopped buying and making sweets. Out of sight, out of mind—and out of the waistline.🙄

Honestly, I wouldn't mind at all if my husband decided to celebrate while I'm still recovering in the hospital; in fact, I’m actually hoping nobody shows up for those first two weeks.

What really caught me off guard during this pregnancy was the sheer number of people reaching out just because they want to come "see" me. Or rather, see the baby. And honestly, I suspect it's mostly because they're just curious about how big my 🤣

is. It’s wild how many people feel entitled to give such precise commentary on my body—describing the shape of my bump, how I’m carrying, how much weight I’ve put on, or even what I look like from the side, the front, or the back.

Maybe I'll become one of those people when I'm older, but right now, I'm genuinely baffled by how much people obsess over things that aren't their business...

Oh, and there's one more thing. It isn't inherently a bad thing, but it’s starting to get on my nerves how everyone who runs into me on the street asks if I'm okay or if everything is alright—as if it's some sort of social norm to assume something is wrong. I realize it comes from a place of kindness and good intentions, but when it becomes a constant refrain, I start feeling like an idiot. I find myself questioning, "Wait, am I actually okay? Is there something visibly wrong with me?" 😵

Or they ask, "Is the baby doing okay?" Honestly, even if things weren't going perfectly, I'm certainly not about to stand there on a busy sidewalk in downtown Chicago giving you a full breakdown of my life.

Justin Allen81 said:I figured I’d chime in—I’m usually high-strung, but with this pregnancy, my patience is basically non-existent. It's like being three times as irritable as usual.

First off, the weight gain is driving me insane.😁 It wasn't a massive explosion—I've put on about 26 pounds over 34 weeks—which is slightly more than ideal, but not catastrophic. HOWEVER! I’m naturally thin, and now I feel like a stranger in my own skin; these extra pounds just don't sit right on me. I HAVE A DOUBLE CHIN. Honestly, I feel like punching someone.😁
DOUBLE CHIN!!!!!!!

Beyond that, what really gets under my skin (as I assume it does for most of you here) is how people feel entitled to comment on my size. So what if I am? I’m the one eating the food, not you. My mother is a constant source of irritation—she can't help but call me fat and constantly compare me to my first pregnancy ("You were so thin then, look at you now," etc.). Her absolute peak of nonsense was telling me: "How is that poor baby going to survive with all that extra padding?" 🙂

Then there's my mother-in-law. She used to call me "Fatty" on a regular basis until I gave her a look so sharp she probably felt her carotid artery pulse. Since that moment, she hasn't used the word "fat" directly, but she's mastered the art of the passive-aggressive detour—things like: "Oh, your face has changed so much! You look totally different now!"
YEAH. When you gain 26 pounds, your face changes. YOU GET A DOUBLE CHIN. I'm well aware; trust me, I know...

Work is another headache. I’m finishing up this week before heading out for two weeks of vacation followed by maternity leave, but for the last three months, my colleagues have been acting like I’m a ghost. They wonder why I'm not doing more, why I'm not at home, blah blah blah... But the second I mention my upcoming departure, the waterworks start. The mourning, the drama, the "ohhh, how will we possibly manage without you?" and "there's going to be so much work once you're gone!" It's exhausting. Just let me leave. As for how *they* will handle it... who cares?
They need to decide if they want me there or not—not that I should even bring it up and trigger their guilt trips. Honestly, I couldn't care less how they cope without me.

What's particularly grating is how certain people treat me like I've lost all cognitive function. Look, pregnancy hormones are a thing—I'm irritable, I get it, I'm self-aware—but it goes deeper than that. Something happens that would reasonably infuriate any sane human being, but the moment I react, the patronizing starts: "Don't get upset, I'll fix it, just stay calm." As if the issue is my temper rather than the actual situation that caused it. Of course, everyone else plays the martyr—they view me as this hormone-driven terror while they remain these perfect, saintly creatures suffering through my outbursts...

☕

Whew, okay—rant over. I am definitely on edge!

Maybe you notice it more than they actually do, or perhaps they really are teasing you?

Personally, I don't think 26 pounds in this timeframe is much at all, especially if you were on the thinner side to begin with. I'm currently in my 30th week and have put on about 25 pounds, and nobody has made any comments about me being fat, even though I subjectively feel much wider than I am tall.

Don't let it get to you; try to just shrug it off. If you start making jokes about yourself first, they won't find it fun to pick on you anymore.

And regarding what you wrote about the name—man, we are struggling with that too since we haven't picked one yet. God forbid, given how judgmental people can be.

Honestly, it’s even worse when some distant relative pops up to comment every few years. He seems so obsessed with his own daughter that I suppose his judgment is just completely skewed by that bias. This will be our first child, but we’re hoping to have at least three, maybe four, depending on how things go. Of course, I’d love to have both boys and girls, but frankly, I don't care which one comes first. I truly get the impression that people make these comments out of pure malice; the idea of saying something like that to someone would never even cross my mind. For one thing, why would I care about the gender of someone else's baby? And more importantly, where do they get the right to comment on it at all? I just feel bad that I can never think of a witty enough comeback to actually shame them—I guess it's because I can't wrap my head around why anyone would even say something so rude in the first place.

Arthur Fisher42 said:So far, the only person who has managed to get under my skin is my mother-in-law, though "annoyed" feels too mild—she actually left me feeling quite disheartened. She came to visit me once in the last five months, and since her own daughter has already given her two grandkids, she had the audacity to tell me she’d much rather I were carrying a girl. Look, she’s entitled to her own wishes, but there was absolutely no reason to say that to my face. It implies that my son isn't special in any way because he's just her third grandchild, whereas to me, he is everything as my firstborn. I find such a comment to be entirely unnecessary and rude.

I know exactly how you feel, though in my case, it's my own mother who acts this way. She got it into her head that we needed a girl, and when the ultrasound technician told us it was a boy, she just pulled this sour face. At the next appointment, when they confirmed it again, she started telling me all these stories about people who thought they were having a boy right up until birth, only to end up with a girl (or vice versa). Every single time, she throws out that little jab: "Well, you never know, maybe it'll be a girl." My mom... I swear, I could just lose it whenever she says stuff like that.🙂

My mother-in-law was also a bit disappointed when she heard it was a boy, but she held her tongue. However, one of our relatives actually said to us—purely to stir the pot—something like, "You know, it used to be that having a boy first was the most important thing, but nowadays everyone seems kind of let down when they hear it's a boy."

To which I replied that I am incredibly happy it's a boy, which left them all looking pretty stunned.

I just don't get people. I really don't. It's like they go out of their way to ruin every good moment they can find. Now, I'm intentionally playing a mental movie where my little kid is going to be the most spoiled brat ever, just to spite them all. 😬

My past follows me everywhere, but I’m not bitter about it. Somehow, I manage to process everything and even find a bit of purpose in the wreckage.

I take a certain pride in the fact that life's attempts to tear me down haven't turned me into a cynical person; to me, that’s the ultimate defeat—when the bad stuff manages to eclipse the good.

There are certain people I still grieve for, and it weighs on me because I know I had a negative impact on them. I lost them forever, or at least the versions of them that existed before I entered the picture. I think I tend to overstate my influence, acting as if I played a massive role in shaping who they became, but part of me feels like I should have stepped in to save them from themselves. Then again, I’ve had to accept that I am not a savior.

Ultimately, I am satisfied with the perspective I've gained through my experiences, even if I wouldn't wish them on my own children. This journey has given me a sense of depth and breadth that most people simply lack, and I don't say that to be arrogant or condescending—it's just an observation. As they say, you can't understand hunger unless you've actually gone without.

People will only value you as much as you value yourself; that’s just how the world works, plain and simple. There’s no other way around it.

If you decide to play the martyr—trying to be this pillar of unwavering morality or religious righteousness—you’re essentially throwing that logic out the window. You end up becoming nothing more than a doormat for everyone else. At some point, you really have to sit down and ask yourself if the trade-off is actually worth it. Still, I have a deep respect for those who have finally stopped sweating other people's opinions. Those who can face injustice with quiet composure? Honestly, they’re practically saints.