Jo Swinson: Do we have a problem with pregnancy?

The question of whether pregnant women should be offered a seat has occupied endless column inches, tweets and radio airwaves over the past week. It all hinged on the revelation that the Equalities Minister, Liberal Democrat MP Jo Swinson, who is seven months (or “heavily” in Daily Mail speak) pregnant was denied a seat during Prime Minister’s Questions. The row escalated when a source close to Ms Swinson surprised us all with the response that the assumption the minister was unable of standing on her two, albeit swollen, feet was “quite sexist”.

This didn’t stop our increasingly bumbling prime minister, aka “Decent Dave”, falling over himself to profess that he wouldn’t hesitate to give up his seat to a mother-to-be. This was despite the fact that Swinson’s aide had let it be known that; "The suggestion somehow that people should be outraged on her behalf is ridiculous… If she had wanted to sit down, she would have asked to sit. She is quite capable of fulfilling her functions as a minister —including standing and walking—while she is pregnant. She is not somehow severely incapacitated."

There you have it—equality in action. Or maybe not. Aside from the obvious fallacies in Swinson’s aide's reported remarks about how women should just ignore the fact they’re carrying an enormous parasitic weight around with them, the over reaction both in the media and within parliament suggests to me an unresolved awkwardness in our attitudes towards pregnancy. The question of how we’re meant to treat women in this state of engorged femininity is fraught with potential pitfalls. Having watched my closest friends progress from the “micro bump” stage all the way through to the heffalump finale, you are torn between wanting to wrap them in cotton wool or trying to act normal while avoiding making eye contact with the ever-growing bump.

The latter results in what less emancipated women than Jo Swinson indignantly refer to as “bump blindness” - when their pregnant state is actively ignored in public places. An outraged friend once posted a video of herself standing stoically on a crowded bus while in the latter stages of pregnancy, “baby on board” badge proudly pinned to her lapel. She was appalled by what she perceived as the lack of common decency. But, what she and so many others in a similar situation fail to realise, is that far from not noticing the pregnant presence in our midst, we are paralysed by a political correctness that the fuss over "Seatgate" has just exacerbated. As parentdish.co.uk editor Tamsin Kelly told The Huffington Post: "It’s one of those terrible modern dilemmas—stand up for the woman with the coat that’s not quite closing or stay seated and panic. If in doubt, I’d say stand up—or better still, never sit down.”

But, that’s not the whole story. It’s not just a fear of doing the wrong thing that holds us back from offering our seats, it’s also what can only be called the “gross out” factor. For those of us who have not yet or never will experience the strange process of gestating a human life inside us, the pregnant form evokes feelings of fear and fascination in equal measure. I’ll admit it-—I find it weird to watch women waddling around with distended bellies, bulbous breasts and moon faces. I dread the moment when a friend asks if I want to “feel their bump”—although I have dutifully done so, and cringe whenever anyone posts a #bumpagram (that’s a naked pregnant selfie) on social media.

Demi Moore's Vanity Fair cover has been much imitated

Obviously, pregnancy is a state to be celebrated. But, the startling, almost science fiction-esque, physical changes it triggers in those closest to us, feeds into our general sense of anxiety over how to react to it. This social awkwardness is nothing new. Historically, pregnancy was not discussed in public. From the medieval era right the way through to the early 20^th century, upper class women who were about to pop were locked away for a period of “lying-in” or “confinement”. The medical aim of this was to reduce the risk of miscarriage but this was also a time when society was not comfortable even thinking about sex. And a watermelon-sized bump serves as a permanent reminder that the bearer has engaged in sexual activity. No wonder, traditional maternity attire infantilised women with girlish bows and doll-like collars (see Princess Di’s 1980s tent-like range).

Various high profile figures have attempted to use their pregnant bodies to breakdown social barriers and ease our collective embarrassment. But, surely the fact we’re still talking about Demi Moore’s 1991 Vanity Fair cover (where she famously posed naked while seven months pregnant), proves that a sense of pervasive unease remains. These days, aversion has been replaced with an unhealthy fascination, which is exploited by the current tabloid obsession with celebrity baby bumps. MailOnline’s infamous “sidebar of shame” is filled with images of reality stars trying to revive their flagging “careers” by flaunting their fertility. As with the Moore cover, we are caught between a secret desire to stare and the need to look away and be discreet.

The fuss over Jo Swinson’s reported wish to stand has only served to highlight the discomfort that surrounds popular perceptions of pregnancy. We know all the trite clichés about women looking “blooming” and “glowing”, and yet when we see our loved ones all swollen by an inner alien-like growth the reality is much more disquieting. While I don’t believe there is anything wrong with the act of offering a pregnant woman a seat in parliament or elsewhere (as a quick poll of my mummy friends confirmed), I do think there is an underlying need for modern society to face its pregnancy phobia. What Jo Swinson and her allies were possibly suggesting - in an admittedly over-stated manner – was that we do just that.