Buddha Belly

At first I couldn’t see anything and then I started to look full, like I did on Thanksgiving.

Recently, my little turkey dinner began to take up more room. Of course, I encouraged the idea with several boxes of chocolates over Christmas. I can be glad that my pancreas are getting a decent workout as the rest of me finds putting on my socks a demanding athletic pursuit.

In the morning before I have any food or drink (and after I have been to the washroom twice during the night) my bump is relatively modest. Since the holidays however, even an empty stomach cannot conceal this playful paunch.

“I have Buddha Belly!” I said to my husband. ‘You mean, Buttah Belly’ he joked.

True, something about pregnancy has reawakened my appreciation for pastries. I find myself driving well out of my way to hit the closest donut shop. And God forbid anyone take a danish out of the variety-pack on my kitchen counter. It ignites in me a wild surge of resentment toward the culprit. Doesn’t everyone know these pastries belong to me?!?

Taking stock of my bump the other day my mother looked at herself and exclaimed ‘I look four months pregnant all the time!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I am five.

I like the term Buddha belly because it reminds me of the orange-robed monks of Tibet. Their peaceful focus on loving-kindness gives me so much more confidence than the pastel coloured pregnancy books I keep receiving from well-meaning friends and family.

Come to think of it, I can’t recall seeing any fat monks but if it’s alright with you I’ll just pretend.