Baby Boom on Checkout Three

Today while doing the food shopping I picked up a ridiculously expensive pregnancy magazine.  Who out there knew that Cosmopolitan published its own pregnancy magazine?  Obviously they don't believe that curvy women with enormous stomachs, stretch marks and low libido belong in their normal glossy spreads, so they have been relegated to their own publication at the bargain basement price of $13.95!

I decided to purchase it anyway, predominantly for research purposes for my next university assignment, but also because it's nice to read something in the ad breaks, when you're lying on the couch eating pineapple lumps.

As the check-out operator swiped through my groceries and assorted rubbish, she picked up the magazine and after a brief hesitation, shyly asked me 'Are you pregnant?'

'I am indeed,' I told her, at which point she broke into a huge conspiratorial smile.  'Me too!' she said.

We spent the next few minutes discussing the highs and lows of pregnancy, predominantly our continuing morning sickness.  I suspect by the constant smile and need to share with complete strangers that this is her first pregnancy. 

I remember that... walking around with a little smile, feeling as though I knew a little secret, letting my hand rest gently on my (not yet existent) baby bulge in that oh-so-obvious way that screams 'I'm pregnant' to anyone with two X chromosomes.

By pregnancy number three the only tummy bulge I have at 13 weeks is caused by jam donuts and Pineapple Lumps, and all the other monstrous foods I am shoving in my mouth in some warped attempt to keep the nausea at bay.  The only secret I know is that I will NEVER do this again, and my hands are occupied scraping Curly Mops boogies off my shoulder.