Slate advice columnist Emily Yoffe seems to have a blind spot where pregnancy is concerned. A few months ago she advised a woman who didn't want children to have them anyway because the woman's family wanted her to. When people wrote in droves, understandably outraged, she responded with the equivalent of "Neener, neener, if you only had children you wouldn't be so bitter!"
Today her column includes a pregnant woman who wants to politely stop people from touching her stomach without permission. Now, I've never been pregnant (and probably never will be) but my observations confirm that this is indeed a problem. A surprising number of people feel like they have the right to touch, rub, or even grab a pregnant belly. I don't know how pregnant women can stand it. I find it annoying enough when people touch my tattoo without asking, and that's much less intimate.
What is Yoffe's sage advice? It basically boils down to, "get over yourself, honey, and let the gropers grope you as much as they want. Because it's their belly, not yours, as long as there's a fetus inside it."
The concept that a pregnant woman has no rights regarding her own body is usually regarded as the territory of the extreme right-wing. But Yoffe literally states that the letter writer's body doesn't belong to her for the duration of the pregnancy: "In a few months your belly will be yours again." Silly woman, she probably thought it was already hers. Good thing Yoffe was there to set her straight that she's a baby factory, not a human being with privacy and agency. I suppose Yoffe would also advise her to listen gratefully when strangers critique her restaurant meals, public activities, or the contents of her shopping cart based on "what's good for the baby." After all, her body will be hers again in a few months. How can she object to people making use of public property?
Yoffe finishes up with this line: "You should prepare yourself for the time when everyone who patted your stomach is going to want to hold your irresistible baby." Because, just like she has no right to refuse any stranger from groping her torso, she will have no right to refuse any stranger from grabbing her child. Sheesh. Slate.com were such fools to let Margo Howard go.
Ew. Just... ew.
I've advised pregnant friends to carry an old-fashioned wooden ruler for the express purpose of smacking grabby hands. I've also heard stories of women who responded by grabbing back at the tits or crotch; that's a little too confrontational even for me (!), but I'd have no hesitation about using a ruler or hairbrush. Complete with the parent's admonition: "Not yours, don't touch!"
Jeezus ghod. What in the world gives ANYONE the idea that intimate groping of a total stranger is an okay thing to do under ANY circumstances?
Yes, the retaliatory crotch-grabbing sounds a bit extreme :) I wouldn't assault someone even if they assaulted me first. It sounds like a good way to get your ass kicked, pregnant or not!
On the other hand, the ruler is a fantastic idea. If I ever got pregnant I would definitely take your advice and carry a ruler.
The weirdest example of inappropriate touching I ever experienced was this past summer at an art car event: without asking, a woman started yanking at my shirt, pulling it away from my neck so she could look in and see my back tattoo. (This doesn't happen every day, but it does happen. Most of the time if they just asked I would lift up my shirt to give them a better view).
I pulled away and said, coldly but not angrily, "Please don't pull on my shirt." Her response was, "Oh it's okay!" That left me scratching my head and thinking, wha?? Did I miss part of the conversation? Why is *she* telling *me* it's okay?
In retrospect I think she meant not to worry, the shirt wasn't damaged. In other words, she completely missed the point. I was trying to be polite but I should have said "Get your goddamn hands off me!" if I wanted her to understand. Still, I got what I wanted -- her getting her goddamn hands off me -- and I didn't see the need to take it any further.
Ugh, I had a stranger touch my back tattoo (it's huge, across both shoulders) 4 days after it was done. I freaked out because at that point it is basically an open wound. Really, how do people come to assume touching anyone without their permission is ok?
It puzzles me too but it does seem to be common. Maybe people see tattooed women the way Emily Yoffe sees pregnant women: by drawing attention to our bodies we've waived ownership, our bodies belong to the gawkers now, not us, and people who touch us are just making use of public property.
Actually I shouldn't say "tattooed women" because I understand it happens to men too, but not as much. My tattoo artist told me that people used to touch him a lot, until he reached a level of coverage where people became intimidated and then it stopped entirely.