There was no mention of ‘do not touch’, which it should. Everyone touched, caressed, as one would St Peter’s foot in the Roman basilica. Some even leaned in as if they would kiss it, then stopped. Disgusting.
It was no piece of art either; after all, it was bloated, round, almost too big. Still people swooned and sighed, as if it were the most beautiful thing since the Mona Lisa or a long lost Picasso.
Some yet barely approached, as if they were afraid to be breaking something fragile and precious, some old family heirloom.
She wasn’t a statue that one could get some supposed blessing from nor a beautiful painting. Sarah sighed; what was it about a pregnant woman’s belly that made her an object?
People had stopped looking in her eyes as they spoke to her; they’d rather be addressing the unborn child who was unlikely to answer. Her womb had suddenly become the centre of everyone’s attention and she’d only become a child bearer. She found them all ridiculous; except Nate. But he was her husband and never once forgot that she was a human being and a great many things before a breeding creature. She made sure of it if he showed inclination to overlook it.