I know I ought to be publicly waving the flag for the wonderful glow that comes over a woman in the full flush of creating new life, but let's be honest here: I am currently host to a lovely little parasite that is brazenly taking anything and everything it likes from me at my expense and lately is getting big and boisterous and making me look like I didn't just eat too many pies, but went back to monster the dessert table.
I know I should say "I look pregnant" but to me, I just look fat.
Which in itself has given me an incredible insight into what it must feel like for many women who face a life-long battle with their weight.
In the early stages of my bump, I tried to hide it with baggy clothes and carefully draped scarves. Then I got home from work one day and happened to see myself in profile instead of front on, and realised that for the past eight hours while lurching about in front of 100 people at a wedding I had been doing so as a fat person.
I was mortified.
A couple of months on from that I have a bona fide baby bump, and have learned that the best way to address the problem of my changing body shape is to embrace it, with fitting clothes.
But finding those clothes was a frustrating process that saw me suddenly excommunicated from every fashionable store I'd ever frequented and skulking around instead in the back corners of cut-price department stores for the inevitable lone rack of maternity wear that had clearly been designed by an ardent misogynist.
Being fat is, it turns out, a lonely and deeply depressing condition. Who knew?
Realistically given all the stats we read about obesity these days, probably lots of people.
Last week I got a rare insight into Maori culture and came out the better for it, and I now can add to that a new and far more sympathetic view on the struggle faced by so many women trying to live with an imperfect figure in a world that throws perfection in front of us on every magazine cover and in every store window as though being beautiful and slim is a piece of cake.
I am ashamed to say I am overly fixated on the idea of "getting my body back" after the baby has had its way with it, but perhaps I should be more ashamed that I live in a world where so much social pressure is put on me, other new mums and women generally to fit into the (way too tiny) box of perceived physical perfection.
