Watch Out, Fat Chicks

Now that my belly is out there in all of its 25-weeks-of-fetal-development glory, there is no doubt that I am pregnant (or hiding a small watermelon under my shirt).

What is most amazing about my growth (other than the miracle of life, yada yada) is how fat chicks take on pregnant women like it's a challenge.

So far today, four overweight women have: out-wobbled me to a seat on the bus, pushed me out of the way as I was exiting an elevator, budded in front of me in line for a free hot dog, and glowered at me in the mall.

I know: buses, dogs and malls, sounds like a dream life I lead. And perhaps it would be if women with unjustifiable lumps of upper arm fat, wide loads and bad 'tudes weren't raining on my hormone-happy parade.

I have now been offered a seat on Toronto public transit exactly twice during my entire pregnancy. And I take transit every day. Meanwhile, I was on the subway in NYC last week for one minute and was offered a seat.

When I look around in the morning, the people avoiding my gaze are the men (because no man of any age seems aware that offering his seat is sort of a nice thing to do for any woman, let alone a pregnant woman).

Meanwhile, every fat chick spreading her seams over a seat and a half is staring right back at me with indignance as I shift my weight from hip to hip.

I like to imagine they are thinking, "I weigh more than you so I deserve to sit more than you." And when I think about it, maybe they're right. The are just as responsible for their fat as I am for my fetus. Is a fetus-bearer any more entitled to rest than a fatty?

Probably not. But along with my growing belly is an ever-growing fearlessness in using it for both good and evil. Which is why I hip-checked Miss Chunky at the elevator and tsk'ed openly at the bus budder. I may not deserve to be treated with any special kindness because I'm knocked up, but I don't plan on getting shoved aside by any ass, no matter how big they are.