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Then the two pink lines appeared. Pink, as in positiveâ€¦as
in pregnantâ€¦as in pure, unadulterated panic. This wasnâ€™t
supposed to happen: Iâ€™m scheduled to marry the handsome,
successful, and very appropriate Ross Davis in six months.
Unfortunately, while Ross may not rock my world with
kitchen-table sex, his technique worked well enough to put
a bun in my thirtysomething ovenâ€¦
Donâ€™t get me wrong, babies are greatâ€”in theory. But I
enjoyed my life the way it was. Loved my job, my rooftop
apartment, my friends; was having fun planning my wedding
and gazing at my pretty three-carat diamond. I didnâ€™t need
anything moreâ€¦did I? Well, whatever I needed, hereâ€™s what
I currently have: A nasty case of morning sickness, a
future mother-in-law obsessed with â€śRossâ€™s Baby,â€ť and a
custom-designed wedding dress Iâ€™ll soon be too fat to
Now, as I burst the seams on my pencil skirts, Iâ€™m trying
to take some small comfort in the fact that one is never
too bloated for a really cute purse. But impending
motherhood also has me reassessing more than my wardrobeâ€”
and wondering how fast I can finish growing upâ€¦
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