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My Name is RP and I Love My Fertility Goddess Body
Today I'm wearing one of those support tank thingies. (I am also wearing black yoga pants - my first pair of yoga pants -- and I have one thing to ask: where have yoga pants been all my life? The reasons I'm wearing them to work, in case anyone is wondering how low my standards have sunk, are that I have a yoga class after work, they are brand new and actually look pretty sharp, I have to do laundry, and let's face it, all my contact with anyone who might care what I'm wearing is over the phone, so why bother? But I do digress.)
Anyway, I know that under ordinary circumstances, those support tank thingies draw a man's eye to the boobies -- checking them out is a nearly irresistible impulse. But this was not on my mind as I took of my black cardigan during my walk to lunch, because I am, at least in this form-fitting outfit, fairly obviously pregnant, and would have thought that I was ogle-proof. But instead, in the span of four blocks, I got honked at, whistled at, hey baby'd, and hey sister, looking good'd by four different men or sets of men. This is an unusually high amount of catcalling for me, even on a very good pre-getting-knocked up day. It was kinda squicky.
So what gives? Are there a lot of preggo fetishists out there, or are the boobs so awe-inspiring that they don't notice the other single bump below it, or are these just men who like a girl with a belly?
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