I feel like they're going to take one look at me and decide I'm some sort of floozy that’s not good enough for their son. Unconsciously my hand rests on my belly as I search my closet for something to wear. I'm not showing at all, but my clothes are starting to pull just a bit around my waist. It's nothing anyone looking at me would notice, but I can feel the difference. I look down at my stomach, unable to visualize how big and swollen it will soon look. I choose a long, black skirt. The band doesn't have much give, but the rest of the material is loose and flowing. I throw a long sleeve red shirt over it. It's not too dressy, not too casual, and since Christmas was yesterday, it's somewhat festive, and to finish off the look I add a black scarf and my favorite black boots with a low heel. I go downstairs and make an appearance in the kitchen, but no one notices at first. "Make sure you put the doily on the tray before you put the cookies on it," my mother explains to Jessica.
