A pregnant shape can cling to fashion but the glamorous image is more elusive, as Lauren Booth testifies

In order to feel confident and sexy when you’re pregnant, take my advice: steer clear of shops like ‘Morgan’ and never ask your partner whether he finds you more attractive, pregnant or slim. He may just tell you the truth, and in my case the truth was definitely not what I wanted to hear.

I’ll never forget pestering my husband in week thirty for his opinion on my now superbly, bulbous waistline and bulging breasts. ‘I just don’t fancy pregnant women,’ he said gently. ‘It’s not you or anything.’ I rushed into the bedroom and howled melodramatically for half an hour. The problem for mums-to-be is that, although the hormones flooding your system help to boost your energy levels, they also make you feel – well – hornier and sexier than ever before. Sadly, feeling like you’re Kim Basinger in 9 ½ Weeks when you’ve let yourself turn into Kathy Burke in ‘The Slobs’ can spell disaster both at home and out shopping.

Madonna, Demi Moore and all the rest haven’t helped. Looking so glam and fit when pregnant, they give out a false impression of what pregnancy ‘looks’ like. The photo shoots and tight t-shirts, the boasting about being at the gym the day before the birth and doing scrunches in the post-natal ward all say: ‘Look, this is easy.’ Lies. Be warned, if you don’t look like a movie star before you get pregnant, months of throwing up and losing sleep will certainly ruin your chances for the duration.

I was pretty happy with my pregnant figure until the day my lycra trousers and favourite skirt finally became unbearable. Up until month five, I had not exactly hidden my bump, but I had tactfully worn long jackets to work. My face hadn’t changed at all (once the zits had gone) and out of professional pride I kept my roots done and my hair to a TV AM neatness. Then came the day I went shopping to ‘Bloooming Marvellous’ with a friend. Everything changed. There’s something about going ‘maternity’ shopping that invites the sudden realisation that: you have changed; you shop differently, walk differently and your sense of style is less important than not chaffing in the heat.

Inside the old-fashioned store, I gingerly picked out a denim shirt and stretch jeans that said ‘size fourteen’ and looked almost boot-cut stylish (almost). The owner of the store assured me that the size was correct and allowances had been made ‘for baby’. I could just about get the jeans over my behind by jiggling and forcing them on like one of the ugly sisters in Cinderella. The only space left was around the bump. I looked like a cross between Max Wall and Homer Simpson. All my Zen-like confidence vanished. I stared in the mirror and mouthed the words ‘fat pig’ at my reflection. Meanwhile, a chirpy, whippet-thin woman dressed in Armani was plucking at hangers and laughing with the shop owner. ‘It’s so hard being this small at seven months, one just doesn’t know what to wear’.

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.

Though my attempt at movie-star pregnancy flopped, I still loved my body for most of the nine months and even for weeks after the birth. Every time I got shaky about weight gain, I would wait for a kick. When it came all my self-obsession and insecurity vanished. My body was doing what it was designed for: Creating, nurturing and, finally, feeding as well.

Going to antenatal classes helps humanise the whole process. You see women of all different shapes and sizes coping differently with their bodies and lifestyle changes. Once I shared my ‘snake-eating-a-sheep story’, the conversation moved on to far more important matters – piles and backache.

You can feel sexy during your nine months, but you’re unlikely to be glamorous the whole time. Swimming helps to keep the body healthy without putting any extra strain on the joints and as I said to myself most mornings: stop worrying about being sexy for now. After all, it’s sex that got you into this mess in the first place.