Here’s looking at you babe

For a couple of weeks I did the leggings and trainer thing every day. I stopped enjoying the baby’s movements and felt fear for the future. My future. But gradually, my boobs and the strong, insistent kicks began to distract me from my spat of self-pity and loathing. I asked myself a single question: when would I be this close to buxom again? With renewed pride, I went out shopping. This time, smiling and confident, I found myself being chatted up by two gorgeous Italian men who lisped ‘Bella, your husband, he a lucky man.’ I threw caution to the wind and went to Topshop to rediscover (cheaply) a sense of fashion fun. I came home with a figure hugging snake-print halter neck that I imagined gave me the look of ripeness and abundance. Before I left home to go on a Channel Four show, I asked my sister how I looked. ‘Like a snake that’s eaten a baby sheep,’ she cried. At the studio I had to admit that, yes, although the breasts were a wonder, the fact they were resting near my belly button detracted from the sexiness of the look.