Whatever you do, don’t tell my wife she’s tiny. Because she’s not. Of course, this doesn’t mean that you can call her huge either. It’s quite the conundrum.

You know she’s pregnant, so her size is the topic of daily discussion. Usually, she’s happy with it and she gestates away, content with her constantly changing shape. She’s good-natured and seems to have a bizarre relationship with the fetal invader that is currently occupying a good 80% of her abdominal area. It’s a cute little pouch that sticks out in front of her, making her look like the perfect pregnant woman. Compact, glowing and round in all the appropriate places.

Or so I thought.

My family had an innocent get-together this weekend where we all ate, drank (water for the wife) and mingled to our hearts’ content. Of course, wifey was a huge (oops! Sorry, constant) topic of discussion. How is she feeling? Is she excited? Is she having any problems? (Some offered advice . . . we won’t go there.) Everyone commented on how tiny she looked for being six months pregnant. One woman (who isn’t part of the family), when hearing Wifey say she felt bloated said, “Oh honey, you have so long to go! You’re just tiny. You don’t even know what bloated is!” (Husband’s interjection: We met this woman two hours prior to this comment. I guess she was comfortable saying whatever she felt to whomever was in earshot. I should have shot back, “With an ass like yours I’d feel bloated too. Honey.”) Despite my wife’s relative small size (she started small, so it only stands to reason that she remains small), I imagine that a huge portion of her internal organs have been shifted by the gargantuan, constantly shifting uterus and growing being inhabiting the small area. All things considered, if I had something the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach, I’d probably feel bloated too. (Okay, let’s face it. I’d feel bloated and uncomfortable if something the size of a neutron was there. I’d bitch and complain endlessly.) The point is, my wife looks amazing pregnant. Healthy and appropriately sized.

Still, in comparison to other women who have been pregnant in history, perhaps my wife’s stomach isn’t as large as others at the six-month mark. So? I figure that anyone who tells her she’s tiny spent the whole of their 9-month pregnancy camped out at McDonalds drinking cold, congealed fry grease while sucking on raw meat. When labor finally struck (which they thought was gas) these nameless women had to be hauled to the hospital via a forklift. To even get them out they had to remove an entire wall.

Yes, my wife is eating a healthy diet, which has resulted in a woman who has gained a good amount of weight. She looks pregnant and happy, rather than like Jabba the Hutt with a tumor on his stomach.

Still, a woman’s stomach size during pregnancy seems to be a strange sort of status symbol among other women. (Much like penis size in men, but women don’t have to lie.) The larger it is, the better job she’s doing. So, in saying that she’s tiny, she’s hearing that she’s not gestating well. All she has to do is grow a baby and she’s under performing! Of course, this isn’t remotely true, but you can’t tell a pregnant woman that she’s being irrational and survive. It just doesn’t happen.

This presents an interesting conundrum. Normally if my wife asked me if she looked fat, a simple “No honey, you look fantastic” would suffice. Now, I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t look fat at all, but she wants to in order to fulfill the fetal growing requirements impressed upon her by the unwritten code of women. It doesn’t matter, anyway. If I tell her she doesn’t look fat, she cries because she’s not pregnant enough. If I tell her that she looks amazingly fat, perfect for baby growin’ she cries because she is unattractive. It’s a no-win situation. So I have devised my own answer, which I think she will accept. I am trying it this evening; I’ll let you know how it goes.

Tell me what you think of it:

“Why honey, you look gestationally appropriate.”