"When's your baby due?" I asked the sales clerk.

"I'm not pregnant."

"Oh."

Sometimes it's difficult for me to tell if a woman's bump is a food baby or a real baby. So, I'm left to wonder, is she, or isn't she? Not that it's any of my business. But the nosy part of my brain wants to know.

My first two pregnancies were in 1983 and 1984. With each pregnancy, I immediately went from wearing normal lingerie to sumo underpants and bras that could have fit my minivan. My wardrobe consisted of Laura Ingalls, prairie-style dresses, Le Cirque du Soleil tops and pants with trampoline-size front panels.

Today, pregnant women wear form-fitting tops and tight jeans up until they deliver — hip clothes they can wear after their pregnancies until their baby-bumps shrink and their tummies flatten. Free-spirited, healthy-bump women who kickbox, spin-cycle, run, lift weights and aerobicize. Women not intimidated by spandex.

Pregnant woman today are not afraid to go to the gym. This makes it difficult for me to know the difference between pre- and post-baby bumps. One woman in particular had me stumped. I happened to notice one day, she had a tiny, tiny bump. Hmm. Is she, or isn't she? I wanted to ask her when her baby was due, but my long-term memory kicked in and said, "You idiot. Have you forgotten about the sales clerk?" The next time I saw the woman her bump had grown the size of a soccer ball. I overheard her tell another woman she was due any day.

Another thing I take issue with — cute, small, baby-bump women. It's in women's nature to compare baby-bumps. This continues long after our babies are born, go off to college and marry. I don't care if you're 92 years old. Women see a baby-bump, and they automatically think back to when they had a baby-bump. And some women, like myself, never forget another woman's small baby-bump.

In the summer of 1984, my girlfriend Maryanne and I were both pregnant — our due dates were minutes close. One day, we met at the swimming pool:

"Mimi, I'm over here!" she yelled. I heard her voice but didn't see her.

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here, silly."

I had pimples bigger than Maryanne's baby-bump. She wore a bikini — I was wearing a pup-tent-style two-piece swimsuit.

Maybe I'm I making a big deal over semantics, but people spoke to our baby-bumps differently. Strangers stared at my baby-bump as if I had an alien creature inside me. "Oh, myyyy. You must be due any day now?"

"Any minute now." I lied. I had 23 weeks left to go.

Feeling left out Maryanne exclaimed, "I'm pregnant, too."

"You must be joking."

"Nope."

"What a sweet, little baby-bump."

I don't understand. I gained 45-pounds. Maryanne gained something like 12 pounds. We both had 8-pound babies. I saw her eat! To this day I attribute my large baby-bump to water weight.

In 1996, I was pregnant again. Laura Ingalls went to wearing black, Lycra leggings, a black maternity turtleneck with a bright yellow vest and flats. Now, looking back, I resembled the bee on BumbleBee Tuna." This time I purchased a pair of slacks only two sizes larger than I normally wore when I wasn't pregnant.

Who was I kidding? Whoever said black is slenderizing must've been a mime. It's cool when The Hulk's pants rip away from his body, but not when it's your own pants. On the bright side, this pregnancy had its perks. My baby-bump parted lines at the football stadium, movie theater and checkout line at the grocery store. Women waved me ahead of the line in public restrooms. Seating hostesses at restaurants wrote my name down at the top of the waiting list. Men stood up from their chairs and insisted I take their seats.

If I had it to do all over again, I would have Demi Moore confidence. Show off my baby-bump by wearing form-fitting tops and pants below my belly. And I would strut my baby-bump in a pair J.Lo-style heels! Fortunately for others, and me, there will be no more bumps in the road.

To find out more about Mimi Kopulos and read her past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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