Mummy and her crisp belly

Something incredible has happened - I've actually lost a bit of weight. Well, quite a lot of weight - I've dropped another dress size. All those months of deprivation, self-flagellation and it turns out all I needed was to get back to playing tennis once a week. And eat a few fewer crisps.

The heady feeling of success was mine to savour (briefly) last week. A play date in a park in hot weather had me dithering over what to wear.

Parks require mummies to be prepared. Although it's unlikely you'll be asked to, you should dress ready for action. Always start with your footwear choice in this circumstance. So for me that was Converse and a pair of shorts. Obviously a top too, but that's incidental to this story.

Rifling through my summer clothes I happened upon a pair of shorts I bought last year but never wore (they were too small, something to do with the cut I think). I'm a little superstitious with clothes - if they're too snug, I will leave them in my active wardrobe because if I put them in the loft they shrink further and then I never wear them. So I have a comprehensive wardrobe of stuff I can't quite get into. But it's all lovely stuff.

Anyway, these shorts fit, and fit well. I felt good heading out to meet with the lovely yummy mummies. And it spurred me on sufficiently that I enjoyed saying no to an ice cream (you can't maintain a lovely figure without sacrifice you know).

And for the rest of the week, I felt good about myself. Which is nice.

Then earlier this week, I had to do the "big shop". I slipped on a red summer dress, light-weight, cool in this brutal heat, and a lovely colour against my emerging tan. What I hadn't reckoned on was how the cold of the chilled aisle would affect my bladder: mid cheeses, I needed a wee.

Now some supermarkets have toilets for their clientele on site: it helps with customer retention. This store didn't. So I approached a lovely lady member of staff and asked if there was a loo I could use. She really was lovely, and said she'd take me upstairs to use the staff loo, but if I was challenged I should pretend I had a medical condition.

Overcome with relief that my bladder would soon be relieved, I laughed and said "Oh, I'm pregnant", thinking she would work with me on the collusion. I didn't expect her to believe me. On the plus side, I have a "neat little bump" and am "blooming". I spent my relief wee time frantically trying to work out when I was "due" in case she asked, knowing from experience that pregnant women (mostly) know the exact time and position of conception and have the due date indelibly etched into their souls, and a rough date of anticipated delivery simply wouldn't do.

One wee later, I was heading down the stairs to more complements on how well I looked (so kind of all the members of staff who seemed to have adopted me as their store mascot and were as proud as punch of my tidy tummy), and questions about how exciting it was to have a baby on the way, and what a relief I'd waited til my older children were both at school (damn right there), and did I need any help with my shopping (no, thank you).

The worst thing is I now had several floor staff solicitously looking after my customer well-being, desperate to help this second trimester mummy with lifting/reaching/pushing her shopping. And so I did what any British woman in this situation would do. I found myself rubbing my (full of crisps) belly and even talking to it on occasion, as I struggled round the store. I spent a little time perusing the baby aisle too, just to be sure I looked the part of an expectant mother.

So there you have it - I drop a dress size and still look convincingly pregnant. Personally, I think it's what puts the mummy in mummy tummy.

By the way, if it's a girl, I'm thinking Golden Wanda and if it's a boy, Quentin.