Can't touch this.

Today was brutally hot. I succumbed to wearing the knit gauchos that I had sworn would never see the light of day outside of my apartment and a stretch puff sleeve top in the perfect shade of heather gray that accentuated my wet pits and drips of sweat running down from under my bra and onto my massive belly. Gross, I know. Way sexy. So then why, dear lord, as I walked on 14th Street between Avenue A and First Ave did I get hit on not once, but twice? Last week, I had a bum with black-face and newspapers attached to his "clothes" holler at me "Damn, I'm too late!" Instead of being offended, my husband and I just laughed. How could we not? But today...today was just wrong. One of the guys licked his lips and asked if he could rub my belly. Ew. I tried to tune the other one out, but still heard him sucking his teeth. Ugh. The things I go through for a Subway sandwich.

Luckily, these were just creepy men being gross, looking but not actually touching. However, what gives with most people feeling that they have the right to come up to me and start touching me? Where did I miss the memo on once a woman is pregnant, touching her without permission is okay? My husband can rub my belly. So can my mother. But the deli guy? My husband's drunk friends that I don't even like when they're sober? No no. I've had people ask to do it, and I suppose that's alright, at least asking before touching. But really, why do you need to at all? Trust, I have no desire to touch you. Sometimes, I see people walking towards me with their eyes growing wider and I feel like I have a glowing target hovering over my midsection. Sucking it in does nothing. I can't hide it. I just put on my plasti-smile and pray that the groping ends quickly. Should I start rubbing beer bellies? Grabbing man boobs? Where's the line?

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that people are fascinated by my belliness and all, and I don't even mind that they usually have loads of questions. I'm more than happy to oblige and help people understand the cool parts and the really not so cool parts of breeding. I'd just prefer that there wasn't an extra pair of hands on me while I preach the pregnancy truths. Good thing I've traded in my bitchiness for a wee (very wee) bit of patience and have yet to resort to violence. If you eventually see my mugshot on NY1 because I was arrested for battery...well, you know why. And um, bring bail money.