Hands Off!

Like most pregnant ladies, I get a lot of information about my changing body from What to Expect When You're Expecting.  In the last week I have developed what pop culture has dubbed a baby bump.  Not my favorite name since I associate the word "bump" with insect bites and annoying speed regulators in parking lots.  Perhaps it's my baby hanging out to let the world know that he/she exists or perhaps it's the fact that my uterus may be the size of a melon~ either way my stomach no longer retracts.  So I go to my handy dandy guide to see if it's time for this feature of pregnancy (I learned basically everyone is different~I'm guessing my petite frame just has no where to hide my little visitor).  I came across a blurb aptly entitled "Unwanted Belly Touching" in the fourth month chapter.  Instantly I am struck with anxiety and the dread of leaving my cozy apartment.  Sorry team, this is no fun picture entry, but rather a soul-bearing and more-personal-than-not outlet for me. 

So for a day or so I have been daydreaming about having a George Bluth type prison existence.  If you've never seen Arrested Development, he enjoys serving his sentence by playing sports, eating ice cream sandwiches, and endlessly having prison guards enforce the "No Touching!" rule.  I can enjoy the first two elements~running around and eating ice cream are thankfully an essential part of my existence.  Unwanted touching has been a huge struggle of mine as an adult.  At times affection from friends and family has been very difficult for me to accept.  Thankfully for those who know me well, it typically isn't an issue if I offer a high five in the place of a hug.

It first became a daily struggle when I moved to Spain to study and do mission work at a college ministry.  Though I had lived in Europe before, it was in Salamanca that I cultivated the kinds of friendships that required besos (cheek kisses) on a daily basis.  I had an especially difficult time not feeling horrible or repulsed when greeting my friends~especially the guys.  An unshaved cheek pressing itself against mine made my muscles tighten; at times I felt like it was a violation because it felt too intimate.  If I had had a boyfriend at the time, I think I would have felt like I was cheating on him.  Part of me thought I could prevent these awkward (for me) encounters by wrapping my scarf from my shoulders up to my ears.  Ultimately, I adjusted to it.  I can accept that it's a cultural thing.  This season of being super uncomfortable yielded to having no problems jumping right in with bisous (French besos) when we lived in Metz.  When my students kissed my cheeks, it melted my heart and made me believe that to "faire la bise" is the most charming practice in the world.

However, let me interject that I had an American friend while in Spain who found my problem with accepting affection unacceptable.  She made it her personal project to afflict me with hugs and touches (no worries~nothing inappropriate) constantly.  I grew to resent her efforts and always wanted to withdraw from her presence or even flat out avoid her because she made light of something I really struggled with. 

For me this touching issue goes back to spending too many of my teen years and (sadly) my early twenties not limiting or protecting myself from ungodly relationships with boys.  I'm definitely not blaming the fellas because physical affection was my substitute for having real love. Love from God, love from family, love for myself~ I didn't know how much damage I was doing to myself with the guys I dated.  When God, family, and self-esteem or self-respect (whatever you'd like to call it) entered the picture, it was a total transformation.  I have an analogy for it~ it was as if every time I messed up with a boy, I was sitting out in the sun working on a tan.  For years I was overexposed to an unhealthy behavior to the point where I got burnt badly.  When it came to affection, it was like I was sunburned, and each touch not only made me uncomfortable~ it hurt me.  I know it was an overreaction, but I was seriously distraught and upset about not being able to prevent people from touching me.

I have come a long way from this particular season in Spain.  I attribute the healing I've had in my heart for the sins of my youth to God's love and his unwillingness to let me settle.  He made me whole.  You don't have to cringe when you see me next wondering if I'll snap when you hug me.  I'm seriously not a headcase anymore.  On a side note, I did have one European tell me that they thought hugging was way more intimate than cheek kisses~ I guess if you think about it, we just press and squeeze our whole bodies together.  I do have to say, though, that Europeans have no equivalent to the hardly offensive side-hug.  I love a good side-hug.

Anywho, my touching affliction only ever pops out when I'm upset about other things.  If I'm sad, I'm typically not consoled by hugs or a hand on the back.  I just need a little space until I have expelled the tears and caught my breath.  So after all that history, I think I'm about to face a new chapter in coping with unwanted touches.  I don't think I'm nuts when I say that being touched on the stomach would offend my delicate sensibilities.  I know folks get excited about babies, but just wait until my little one has entered the world exited my body before getting all hands on.  The Expecting book gives some helpful tips for dealing with the acquaintance at church or the stranger in line with you at the grocery store.  Their more assertive techniques include a reciprocal belly touch.  That might make a cute moment~if you touch mine, I'll touch yours.  They also suggest simply taking their hand and removing it from my belly and explaining I'm not comfortable with their touching incursion. 

I'm not sure what my reaction will be, but maybe my good friends can desensitize me bit before it's inevitable.  At this point it might seem odd since I don't look pregnant, but rather like I've let myself go a bit in the mid-section.  However, if you are my friend, consider this an open invitation to lay hands on me so that I don't lash out irrationally at some poor inconnu at the drug store.  Thanks for reading and letting me share.  I hope I'm just borrowing trouble, and it'll maybe even be nice when someone delights in baby's presence.

On a happy fun note to end this rather dreary entry, Kyle told me about a funny interaction he had at work.  Someone asked him if he's looking forward to having a girl or a boy more.  In an effort to communicate that he didn't have a gender preference, he said, "I don't want either."  Too bad, buddy!  You are getting one whether you like it or not!  And only a week until we discover if the stork brought us a lil man or a lil miss....