The person who took this picture should be shot. And maybe the person who made the decision to make this public. (That may include me, as I’m helping it be public by talking about it) And then we should hunt down the person who made her go out in public Saturday. I see this picture of a very-uncomfortable Jessica Simpson trundling through some city thoroughfare and all I can feel is sympathy.

You see, I’ve been there. Not ‘leader of a billion-dollar fashion empire’-wise, nor ‘engaged to a handsome former NFL player’-wise, not even ‘former reality TV star’-wise, but I’ve certainly been there pregnancy-wise.

Not for me, the tiny baby bump (á la Miranda Kerr or any other Victoria’s Secret Model) that produces a six-pound dimple. Not for me, frolicking on the beach in a bikini when I was six months along (because there are some very specific zoning laws about that).  No, me being pregnant always ended with me doing my favorite Jabba the Hutt impersonation. Jabba the Hutt, if you will, after ingesting a Volkswagen. And always concluded with as much ease as Jabba displayed when he died at the Pit of Carkoon.

If you want to see a picture of me being pregnant, well, there’s this:

I have to gank a picture from Star Wars movies to show you me being pregnant because there are no pictures of me being pregnant, mostly because there is no lens wide-angly enough to contain all my matronly splendor in the late stages of baby baking. (Just be grateful that I’m not throwing in my labor and delivery, re-enacted by The Star Wars Players at The Battle of Carkoon.)

At the stage of the game that Jessica’s at, you can’t worry about your clothing choices. All you want is to be comfortable. And not feel like you’re smuggling a bag of cats across the border. Anyone who judges at this point a) has never been there or b) is a jerk or c) both.

So c’mon, paparazzi! Quit taking pictures of the uncomfortable pregnant woman. And Jessica? GIP (Gestate In Peace) and keep your feet elevated.

© E. Stocking Evans