Twiggy

There is something to be said for shopping while pregnant. Not only does your mind not think rationally, nine wine goblets that match my china pattern for $150 what a steal! But everything makes you feel fatter than you really are. Now, I am in no way saying that I'm not carrying around a spare tire, or two. Both of which I can thank the lovely husband for convincing me that I'm beautiful just the way I am, and in my warped mind that means bring on the chocolate! But when you stand me next to a 15 yr old girl, who has barely hit puberty, weights a buck and a quarter soaking wet and is wearing the clothing equivalent to underwear while shopping it makes it a little hard not to be a little critical of one's own body. Both of her thighs together weren't near the size of one of mine, and my ass certainly required it's own zipcode in comparison. However, my saving grace, I had boobs! I had gobs of boobs. Hers were tiny little mosquito bites compared to my womanly breasts. So, instead of allowing this critical expose of our bodies send me into emotional over-drive running head long for the nearest ice cream shop, I sucked in my gas inflated protruding belly as best as possible, stuck out my chest, flipped my hair around and marched myself proudly out of the store. Proudly, of course, was short lived as I walked smack into the glass front doors. Stunned and a bit embarrassed I tried as best as possible to sneak out without any further humiliations. While I may have made and ass of myself at least I have front bumper pads to cushion my falls.