Pregnant? Me?

Since discovering last Sunday evening that I have a bun in the proverbial, I have been asked if I am pregnant precisely 4 times (including my dad, which was weird) and probed as to whether I'm thinking of bearing children countless others.  I can't imagine why this is suddenly happening but I need to come up with a convincing red herring of a response, and fast, because presumably everyone who's asked me thus far is, despite my negative response, now well aware of the fact that I'm up the duff.

Some of these people were nosey buggers at the wedding I went to yesterday, which was the first occasion at which I had the trouble of trying very hard not to look pregnant.  The first problem lay my discovery that, contrary to my prior belief, elderflower cordial does not look in the least bit like champagne.  I thus had to pretend I was using it to balance out the three glasses of bubbly I'd just necked before meeting the person I was currently speaking to.  The second problem lay, obviously, with the food: the only other consumables at the reception (it was an afternoon do) were sandwiches, cakes and scones.  I can't eat any of that (gluten intolerance), so I ended up eating a teacup of clotted cream and blackberry jam...

...except I did also eat a thing on the DEFINITELY NEVER EAT THIS WHEN YOU'RE PREGNANT list because a friend took pity on me and offered me the rose-pink beef from her little rye bread canapé and I'd been grumbling so much about how hungry I was that I just couldn't turn it down because I thought it would look suspicious.  I've spent the full 24 hours since worrying about whether I've poisoned my undeveloped bean.  I'm just too bloody English for my own good.

Anyhow, despite in no way having my head around this whole thing and being (as of today) 6 weeks gone, I seem to have embraced the role of Indignant Pregnant Woman with some gusto.  When I was annoyed because my plane was delayed; I was unable to find anything I could eat in Heathrow arrivals at 10pm when I was absolutely ravenous; when I was "forced" to queue for 10 minutes at the cash machine; and when I sat next to a chap on the Tube who reeked to the point of making me wretch but I didn't want to move for fear of offending him (see above re: being English) so I sat next to him for 20 bloody minutes... what was my response?  FFS!  DON'T THEY KNOW I'M PREGNANT??

I can see now that on one very selfish, self-indulgent and very superficial level at least, I'm starting to rather enjoy this.