My wife is gorgeous to me. Like, really gorgeous. Every dip, curve, and contour screams, “I am woman; be enthralled!”
But there is one state that magnifies all that feminine intensity to epic proportions: pregnancy.
I may never have the joy of experiencing my wife’s pregnant body again, but I’m nonetheless so glad for having experienced it in the past. God willing, I’ll get it again, and again I’ll be overwhelmed.
You see, there is something so purely woman about the pregnant body. It’s doing what it was uniquely created to do. It’s supple, it’s sensual, and it’s enchanting. It’s supremely erotic. There is little my wife can do to not radiate a primal sex appeal when she’s pregnant. And the more pregnant she is, the more supercharged her body is with this powerful allure. Months seven through nine are potent.
But while a vast belly and increased girth — not to mention the sweat and hormones and (of course) engorged breasts — are jaw-dropping, drool-inducing traits that make me want to ravage her, those same features tell her just the opposite.
They tell her, simply, that she’s a whale. Fat. Ugly. Unfit for service.
I’m ashamed to live in a culture that can so readily encourage these failings. When I see people criticize a pregnant woman’s size, it makes me want to stab people in the eye with a pregnancy test until I see a blue plus sign.
How incredibly, inhumanly disgusting!
It’s bad enough to carry the burden of creating a human being inside you, to know this causes changes to your body that you cannot truly control or prevent. For that matter, it’s not even your body anymore. As I understand it, every pregnant woman has a moment when that fact truly sinks in — you’re not your own anymore. You’ve got a responsibility, a sacred duty as old as humanity itself, as a living protector of the most fragile of life. That’s a lot to carry. Literally.
When I see people criticize a pregnant woman’s size, it makes me want to stab people in the eye with a pregnancy test until I see a blue plus sign.
But why must a woman carry a bloated whale feeling, a sense of undesirability, at a time when many women experience an elevated desire of their own? “Too bad I’m a fat whale, and he couldn’t possibly want me right now, ’cause I’m having some serious needs.” How frustrating that must be.
I can’t universally speak for every man’s desire, but it seems pretty common that pregnancy has its own sex appeal. It somehow graduates into its own specialization. For me, I know I want my wife even more when she’s pregnant.
I think I can say, however, that the idea you’re a fat whale is a fat whale of a lie. You’re a beautiful, pregnant woman, fulfilling the call of God on the human race. That includes an effect on your body, and that’s more than just okay. That’s the point. It’s a body God designed to do what it’s doing, and there is nothing more beautiful than God at work.
As for my wife, she’ll know if we get another swing at the pregnancy thing. Every inch she gains will give me another inch to kiss and desire. Every bulge will be a token of God working in our lives. Every stretch mark will be a badge of honor, an expression of our shared love. And every time she’s lying around without a shirt and I get to stare at her beautiful belly, I’ll be both rapt and aroused.
God willing, I’ll get another taste of that. She’s so sexy.
Originally posted 2015-04-17 08:00:43.