Who said expectant mothers have to look like fertility goddesses?
By Katrina Onstad May. 05, 2004 | Five months pregnant and gummy with thirst, I walked into a corner store in my downtown Toronto neighborhood to buy a drink. The clerk gave my body the once-over and asked when I was due. I told her our unusual due date — Christmas Day — and she frowned. “No, no. You’re wrong, or else you’re going to have a preemie! You’re too small!” Seething silently, I took my juice and stormed out, but she’d gotten to me: I pictured an elfin baby floating around in my inadequate belly, refusing to be born. I’m 6 feet tall, and at my thinnest I weigh around 145 pounds. Five months into my pregnancy, I had hit only 150 and could still comfortably wear my size 8 clothes. When I ranted about the cashier to my midwife, she told me to relax; the baby and I were both fine. My boyfriend, the baby’s father, would listen to my tales of skinny pregger harassment and laugh, offering the useful advice, “Be flattered. Ignore it.” A few days after the preemie incident, I ran in
