And to think pink was once my favorite color...

Then the stick turned pink. Pink as in positive...as in pregnant...as in pure, unadulterated panic. This wasn't supposed to happen: I'm scheduled to marry the handsome, successful, and very appropriate Ross Davis in six months. Unfortunately, while Ross may not rock my world with kitchen-table sex, his technique worked well enough to put a bun in my thirtysomething oven-a fact of which he's surprisingly proud, considering we'd agreed not to start a family...

It isn't that I don't like kids. Babies are great-in theory. The thing is, I enjoyed my life the way it was. Loved my work as an event planner, my rooftop apartment, my friends; was having fun planning my wedding and gazing at my pretty three-carat diamond. I didn't need anything more...did I? Well, whatever I needed, here's what I currently have: A nasty case of morning sickness; a future mother-in-law who's become obsessed with "Ross's Baby"; a slew of unsolicited name suggestions for him or her; and a custom-designed wedding dress I'll soon be too fat to wear. Add the fact that my best guy friend hates my fiancé more with each passing day, and I suppose you could say I'm having a less-than-stellar first trimester...

Now, as I burst the seams on my pencil skirts, I'm trying to take some comfort in the fact that one is never too bloated for a really cute purse. But impending motherhood also has me reassessing more than my wardrobe-and wondering if thirty-six more weeks is enough time for me to finish growing up....