Public Domain

For some reason (probably because I am carrying waaaaaay out front and I look like I have swallowed a very large dinosaur egg that's lying on its side, making my belly very pointed looking) my children think my pregnant bump is theirs to do with as they please.

Sutton (17) is the least invasive in her inquiries. Basically, she just stares at me, shakes her head and regularly comments, "Mom! You are so HUGE!" She doesn't touch me often--she does, however, walk big circles around me, obviously a little freaked out. She's kind enough to stifle the "Ewwww gross!" declarations clearly dying to come out.

Reagan (12), the most touchy-feely child since the beginning, rubs me like Buddha from morning 'til night. She focuses on my belly button, poking the popped out "ready button" incessantly until I snap.

Keaton (9) is the soft-belly-rubber and sweet-belly-kisser. The problem is, after the hundredth rub and kiss, this mom is ready to scream and is constantly redirecting her attentions elsewhere.

Hayden treats my belly like that great-aunt we've all had. You know, the kind that when giving you hugs, slaps your back instead of gently rubbing...causing you to question her true feelings for you. Surely she must despise you, but in reality that's just how she says I love you. Hayden proclaims his baby-love by simulating life-saving chest compressions on my stomach until I squeal in pain. The word 'gentle' is not in his five-year-old vocabulary just yet.

Landon (3) has decided this belly is perfect as a racetrack for his hot wheels. He likes to have me lie down, raises my shirt (better traction on bare skin?), and the races begin. Our Nascar-like playtime involves car sounds and is complete with devastating "crashes" as the miniature cars go hurdling over the side. He completes each session with raspberries, those loud blowing kisses against my skin that obviously scare the baby, forcing her to jump and squirm each time he does it, leaving me with a seemingly traumatized baby girl unable to settle back down for some time.

I asked him last night as he pressed his ear to listen to the baby after their late night play session, "What is she saying Landon?"

Landon (dramatically): "She sayin', 'Get me outta here!'"

I beg to differ. Surely she's making plans to hunker down where she is for a while longer...safe and in relative peace from strange looks, pokes, rubs, prods, and loud raspberries.

My body is currently not my own, yet I don't complain. Just like every pregnancy is different, each of my children is unique and their displays of affection vary with age, stage and gender. Each child is essentially saying the same thing: They already love this new baby so very much.

And this mommy is so very thankful for that.