When you're pregnant you become a public commodity. Strangers ask you your business, tell you whether you're having a boy or a girl and have opinions on what foods go in your cart at the No Frills.
Way back when... when I was pregnant with Rissa - I was working in an office. I did a lot of work with the desktop publishing department. I came into the office one day and this desktop publishing dude suddenly put his hands very low on my pregnant stomach. I'm not a touching-phobe, in fact I'm pretty darned snuggly with those I'm close to, but if I don't KNOW the person, I'm not really cool with being touched, up close and personal - low on my body, adjacent to my hooha. I didn't know this guy.
Without a pause, I reached down and grabbed his crotch, firmly... in such a way where he could not extricate himself easily. I then said this:
"You need to ask first." I squeezed a little bit. His eyes got a little wider. I smiled kindly at him, waiting, my head resting in an "I'm listening" tilt.
"Sorry..." he strangled out, his eyes watering. "I'll ask."
"Good man." I waited patiently, hand still a claw around what manly bits hadn't crawled back up inside his body.
"May I... " he swallowed and looked a bit green. "May I touch your stomach?"
I released him and feigned delight. "Why thank you SO much for asking! You know a lot of people just touch without asking." I lifted up my top, exposing the vast expanse of child-incubating skin. I take on a conspiratory tone. "You can even touch my popped belly button if you like, I don't let just anyone do that."