April 9, 2011
THERE once was a time when the pregnant woman shielded her distended belly from the eyes of the world. She wore loose smocks. Out of modesty and a sense of protectiveness for the unborn, she did not wear tight-fitting clothes.
Today, this is not the case. Women wear T-shirts and bare midriffs. Most shocking of all, expectant mothers now have their portraits taken by professional photographers in the latter stages of pregnancy. The convention in these portraits is to display the swollen belly naked, perhaps stroked by the father or a sibling.
No one wants to see his mother half-naked and pregnant in a framed photograph on a shelf. No one. These portraits will be disturbing revelations. Children will be forced to view themselves as naked bulges, non-persons. But the expectant mother is not thinking about her child and the awesome responsibility ahead when she poses in this way. She is in love with her primitive fertility. Let the record include her moments as maternal goddess.
The modern woman doesn’t have much left of her femininity, so she glories in what she does have: her body. The more spiritually empty she is, the more triumphantly carnal she becomes.