Don’t ask about someone else’s pregnancy — even if it’s Rihanna

After years of people commenting on my possibly pregnant, newly pregnant, miscarriage-suffering, largely pregnant, postpartum body, I can tell you this: You don’t ask about a pregnancy until a person explicitly invites it, or is holding a child in their arms.

I had parking attendants (more than one) congratulate me for my upcoming baby when no baby was on the way. I had one kind woman tell me I was absolutely glowing — as I was in the process of miscarrying. A lovely colleague who congratulated my husband and myself on a crowded elevator at work, and gestured to my midsection when I was still far from wanting to tell anyone.

Often, I was more embarrassed for the person pointing to my pregnancy, real or imagined. And I know in most cases, it came from a good place. But soon, it just felt like what it was: an invasion both physical and emotional.

Rihanna’s pregnancy was not the star of her halftime show

“Women should have agency over when we reveal such transformative news,” says Jessica Zucker, a psychologist specializing in reproductive health in Los Angeles, and author of “I Had a Miscarriage.” “It’s such a profound moment in our lives, whether we had losses ourselves, heard tragic stories, or don’t want to reveal it.”

Mona Benach still remembers all too clearly when she was just 8 weeks pregnant with her third child (who is now 15) and the day care provider pulled her aside and “literally said to me, and this is a woman I loved and still do, ‘you’re not pregnant again are you?’” She lied and said she wasn’t. “I just wasn’t ready to reveal it yet and especially because I had a miscarriage before.”

Pregnancy, or the specter of it, somehow invites touches, stares and comments like none other. And this happens at the most vulnerable of times. “The interesting thing is how our culture feels like it’s okay to look at women’s bodies, to analyze bodies, in a time of fertility, pregnancy and postpartum,” says Michelle Cohen, a birth and postpartum doula in D.C. “It keeps people’s bodies in a place of objectification. It’s dangerous because we are not always privy to people’s stories, so we have no idea what their journey has been.”

Such was the case with Emily DiDonna, an educator in Boston, who spent more than five years of “excruciating IVF — lots of surgeries and hormones and miscarriage, before finally welcoming our son, who is now 8.” During those years, there were so many times when she was asked the question. Once, after suffering a loss, she and her husband left their house for the first time and she was greeted at her local bakery by a woman who “full on wrapped her hands around my belly” and congratulated her. “I was stunned, then it was complete hysteria.” She ran out of the building crying.

Several women who had endured pregnancy loss said they still felt the sting of invasive questions decades later.

Danielle Jernigan, a doula certified in perinatal mental health, said people need to remember another person’s possible pregnancy is “none of our business.” But more important than that, suggesting someone is pregnant can be a triggering experience. “What if this person has experienced pregnancy loss? They can still be carrying their belly because of that,” she said. “In the community I serve, one of the biggest reasons you don’t ask is because of that idea that someone may have experienced pregnancy loss. Even if they are pregnant, they might not want to talk about it because they’re not sure that pregnancy is viable. This might be their rainbow baby and they don’t want to talk about it because they are scared.”

Some prominent women in recent years have helped shift some of the conversation around pregnancy and bodies, reminding people that just because there’s a bump doesn’t mean there’s a baby. Then-Duchess Kate, despite looking flawless after giving birth just hours prior, emerged from the maternity ward with her full baby bump on display. Jennifer Garner once announced “I am not pregnant, but I have had three kids and there is a bump,” after there was speculation she was pregnant again.

“While you’re pregnant, everyone is going bananas over how beautiful and glowing you are,” but the expectation to look like you never gave birth arrives as you leave the hospital, Zucker said. The pressure to “bounce back” can “psychologically ravage women who had preexisting body issues or even didn’t. The shape of our bodies shouldn’t return to what they were pre-pregnancy.”

Lizzie Duszynski-Goodman, a writer in Chicago with two girls, now 8 and 4, was devastated when a stranger in an elevator asked her where she’d be delivering her baby, three weeks after she delivered her baby. “I responded with, ‘Don’t feel bad about this, but my baby is actually three weeks old.’ The woman had zero apologies for me, and when I got into my car, I broke down in tears and cried all the way home.”

For all of the half-time watchers, Rihanna kept us guessing for a while. Even though she showcased her bump, even though said she was bringing a special guest. Sure, she had a look about her, didn’t she? She sure seemed pregnant. But we didn’t know, not really. Not until her publicist announced she is, indeed, pregnant.

“It’s official!” I finally texted my group, when Rihanna made it official.