It was an absolutely perfect day as the cruise ship glided leisurely along the Amalfi coast, quaint little Italian villages dotting the seaside. Lisa sighed contentedly from her lounge chair on the pool deck as the Mediterranean sun, unobscured by even a trace of clouds, gently baked her skin to a rich golden hue. The tiny green bikini she wore exposed her slender legs, tightly toned waist, and just a bit of her firm, round butt to the glorious rays that warmed her inside and out. She glanced over to see Kevin, her one-time high school crush turned adult lover striding over, his generous package barely concealed by his tight swim shorts, as he placed a pair of cold, frozen margaritas on the table between his chair and Lisa's. "So, how are the babies?" he asked.
And that's when Lisa woke up, confronted by the realization that she was --fuck-- still pregnant. It had been such a pleasant dream, but the sharp contrast with her present reality just made it all the more depressing. She felt a sharp jab from within apply painful pressure to her bladder and knew she had to get to the bathroom before it was too late. The idea of wetting the bed and having to wash and change the sheets in her current condition was just too daunting.
She slowly, painfully heaved the massive bulk of her distended belly in a drawn out effort to roll over in bed. Lisa actually had to use her hands to help roll her belly to spare her overtaxed ab muscles some of the strain. Catching her breath for a moment, she then shuffled to the edge of the bed and heaved herself to her feet, one hand placed firmly in the small of her back as her poor spine adjusted to the heavy load. Then began the ponderous, comical waddle to the bathroom.
Lisa had never asked for any of this. Never wanted to be pregnant, never wanted to be a mother, certainly not all on her own, with twins, and this weird condition -- poly-hydro-something -- that made her belly grow even bigger than a twin pregnancy normally would. At her last appointment, the doctor had said she was measuring (a ridiculous) 54 weeks pregnant, even though she was "only" 33 weeks along. "Just kill me now," she thought to herself.
Lisa wasn't generally a promiscuous girl. It was only the 4th guy she'd ever slept with, and her first random hookup ever (a rebound from her recent breakup with John, aka, guy #3), but the potent mixture of passion, tequila, and an evening of generally bad decision-making left any thoughts about protection in the dust, and here she was now, living with the consequences. Needless to say, the jackass split the scene -- even changed his phone number, the bastard -- as soon as she told him what had happened. Not that she wanted to start a life with this random accidental baby daddy, but now Lisa faced the stigma of being single and heavily pregnant. She really was a good girl (most of the time), but being pregnant and all alone, she knew she looked to all the world like a big, pregnant slut. That wasn't who she was, but it was how everyone would see her.
Early on, Lisa decided that she couldn't bear the thought of an abortion and would put the babies up for adoption. She just had to carry them and get them out of her first. If only she had known then what that would entail. At first, the thought of giving birth -- to twins no less -- terrified poor Lisa. But as the pregnancy dragged on... and on... and on, the thought became less and less frightening. Now, she didn't care how the hell these little parasites came out, she just wanted her body back. Lisa knew it would take months and months of diet and exercise to get back to anything even remotely resembling her pre-pregnancy body, but just to not be a prisoner and slave to these uterine gremlins would be more than enough.
Lisa groaned as she lowered her weighty bulk onto the toilet for the first of today's 5,000 pee breaks. Her belly completely filled her lap, forcing her legs to spread wide. She unconsciously began to rub her massive bump, focusing on the sore spots where the babies were most active and where her skin was becoming irritated with red stretch marks. They itched so badly, she reached for the bottle of cocoa butter and began to rub it in. She continued rubbing as an excuse to avoid getting up off the toilet, but now her butt was starting to fall asleep, and she had to get moving. With a little rocking back and forth, she hoisted herself back up onto her swollen feet. As Lisa regained her balance, her hand grazed the increasingly plump curve of her ass. While her belly was painfully firm, tight as a snare drum, filled with two growing babies and excess fluid, other parts of her seemed to be getting softer by the day. Her pre-pregnancy thongs, which should have been able to fit under her belly, either dug painfully into her softer flesh or didn't go past her widened hips at all.
And then, there were her tits. A perky b-cup since high school, Lisa was initially excited about the prospect of gaining a cup size or two out of this whole ordeal. Well, she did. And then some. She had fantasized about nice, shapely "pornstar tits," but what Lisa saw when she looked down was just a pair of big, heavy udders. They had started growing shortly after she learned she was pregnant and just never stopped, shooting right past her ideal c- and d-cup sizes in the second trimester. Now, they were just big, floppity, heavy milk bags, spilling out gracelessly on either side of her gargantuan gut. Dark and nearly always erect nipples were prominently on public display no matter what kind of top she wore. They hadn't started leaking milk yet, but she almost wished they would so she could relieve some of the pressure that seemed to just keep building up in them. And did she mention they were heavy?! As if she didn't have enough weight to lug around in front of her torso.
Pregnancy had completely transformed Lisa into this fat heifer, huffing and puffing as she waddled from the bathroom to the kitchen. Very unlike her earlier dream, Lisa's skin had taken on a pasty shade of pale due to her avoiding the sun -- any unnecessary time outdoors really -- for the past several months. She literally didn't recognize the face she saw in the mirror anymore. It had plumped out, her chubbier cheeks engulfing any definition her cheekbones once had and -- Oh Gawd -- was that the beginning of a double chin?? As drastic as all these changes were, they were merely sideshows to her explosive belly. It jutted out in front of her, the size of a beachball but heavier than a large watermelon. It was by far the dominant feature on her body, constantly pulsing with the kicks and punches of its uninvited occupants, the skin around it always itchy and demanding to be rubbed. Lisa's overstuffed womb wouldn't let her get a good night's sleep, depriving her of both her front and back, forcing her to contort her bloated body into exotic positions around a stupid body pillow until she got comfortable enough... and then inevitably had to get up to pee again. Her belly button had popped out around the 5th month, at first becoming flush with the curve of her dome, then pointing straight outward. It was like an awkward fleshy golf ball that stuck out through any shirt that went down far enough to cover it. Lisa couldn't imagine how she was going to keep growing like this for another, oh shit, month and a half?? Just thinking about it made her start to tear up, and she knew she had to get on with her day.
Lisa was mortified at what she had become, but she knew it was at least partly her own fault. This entire pregnancy had been a parade of generally unhealthy cravings, and her sheer desire for Hot Pockets dipped in nacho cheese or Pizza Rolls with chocolate ice cream was just too powerful to resist. And around the middle of the second trimester, she stopped fighting temptation and just let herself go. She was a lonely, miserable, fat blob. She couldn't have a drink, she couldn't smoke, she couldn't even go for a run since she was too damn fat, and two very unwelcome passengers were constantly using her bladder as a punching bag. She hadn't even had a good fuck since the fateful night that got her into this mess, and what man would want to have sex with a bloated, disgusting butterball like her now? It was like all of life's little pleasures were taken away except for one. Feeding those cravings felt soooo good. Even though she knew it would only make her fatter and more miserable, she didn't care. In that moment, the delicious taste of her craving du jour, and the animalistic satisfaction of shoving it into her mouth and feeling it slide down her throat into her waiting belly was pure bliss. It was basically the only thing that gave her joy anymore, and she wasn't going to deny herself those delicious moments of pleasure. It was for her mental health, she'd tell herself, so calories be damned!
The daily craving. That's what was on Lisa's mind as she lumbered up to the fridge and began the hunt. Frosted Flakes and M&Ms were already out on the counter. Now, all she needed was... milk? How the hell could she be out of milk?? Like an enraged wild animal, she furiously flung cartons and containers aside, desperately searching for the final ingredient that she knew wasn't there. Lisa pouted audibly to no one in particular and stamped a foot, which sent a gentle wave of fleshy jiggles up her thigh, butt, belly, and tits. Lisa was painfully aware of the irony that she was currently lugging around a very heavy but as-yet unproductive dairy farm on her chest. Not that drinking her own breast milk held any strong appeal for Lisa, but in that moment, her desire for Frosted Flakes and M&Ms floating in a great big bowl of milk was so ravenous, she wouldn't have given it a second thought.
"Shit," Lisa said out loud. This was a craving. It wasn't something she wanted to have, it was something she *needed* to have, something she *would* have. Nothing else in the world could satiate her gnawing hunger for Frosted Flakes and M&Ms in milk, which naturally meant... she would have to go out to the store. "Double shit."
Lisa had never been excessively prideful in her appearance, but she was always conscientious about looking presentable whenever she left the house. She never would have dreamed of going out in pajama pants and a dirty t-shirt before, but that was then. Now, it was just about survival. Since the once-simple act of getting dressed had recently become an olympic event, Lisa spared herself some effort by deciding that her maternity panties were "clean enough" to keep wearing. She grabbed a preposterously huge orange sports bra, slipped it over her head, and worked each of her overflowing udders into the cups. Once in place, the heavy lycra garment was a bit constricting, but she had to admit that it helped with some of the strain her back was feeling. She grabbed a pair of black yoga pants, and slid them up her legs and over her ample butt and hips, the front stopping just beneath the swell of her gut. They still fit... for now, but the black material, stretched thin to a dark shade of gray, did absolutely nothing to hide the well-defined lines created by her panties biting into the soft flesh of her increasingly generous ass. She grabbed a powder blue XL t-shirt dotted with a few telltale chocolate and bbq sauce stains on the upper belly region, pulled it over the top, and giving the front a good yank, found that it covered most of her belly. From her point of view, it gave the illusion of complete coverage, though she suspected there was at least an inch or two of underbelly poking out of the bottom. Whatever, fuckit, she was just going to the store and back. It wasn't like she had any more flattering clothing options, and Lisa refused to spend money on more maternity clothes for an unwanted pregnancy.
Lisa grabbed her coat, buttoning just the top two buttons around her breasts, leaving her big belly jutting out beneath. She had stopped even trying to button it all the way around the end of the second trimester. She started waddling toward the front door, and the feeling of carpet under her bare feet reminded her of the reality her belly had hidden from view... she was still barefoot and pregnant. "Grrrrr," she thought, glancing forlornly at her collection of super cute but now woefully impractical shoes. Despite the harsh November cold, she slipped her plump toes into a pair of cheap, plastic flip flops. They were one of the few footwear options that could still accommodate her poor, swollen feet, and unlike her tennis shoes, these would spare her the indignity of struggling to tie them up.
Dressed for "battle," Lisa waddled out the door to her car. After pushing the driver's seat all the way back, she slid her considerable bulk in. Now for the fine tuning. Lisa sat up as straight as she could and slowly pushed the seat forward until the steering wheel touched her belly. Then she wiggled her toes, searching for the pedals but couldn't quite reach them. So, she pushed the seat forward a bit more, the wheel now pressing more firmly into the massive dome of her pregnancy and found that she could finally reach the pedals. Driving, another once-simple task, was becoming more difficult by the day, and she dreaded what the next month and a half had in store. Would she just become a big, fat, shut-in? Relying on delivery services because she had become too much of a bloated, pregnant cow to take care of herself or even leave the house?? It was a thought she tried to push away even as the reality of the situation became increasingly apparent.
Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, Lisa's heart sank at the sight of the one "maternity parking" spot filled. There was a whole row of open handicapped spaces, and Lisa certainly felt handicapped, but without the placard, she didn't want to risk her car getting towed and having to have someone roll her back home. So, she parked in the nearest open space and plodded along the 100 or so feet -- which felt like a marathon -- to the store's front door. Waddling across the parking lot, she was very aware of the sensation of her plump thighs rubbing together. This was a fairly new indicator of how much her body had changed, and the rhythmic *swish, swish* of lycra grinding against lycra refused to let her forget it. Then, as if to pile on, a stiff breeze confirmed her earlier suspicion that at least a few inches of underbelly were hanging out for all the world to see. Whatever, nothing she could do about that now. She was on a mission. Get in, get her milk, and get out.
At the front door, Lisa caught a glimpse of the electric scooter carts the store had for disabled customers. It would be sooo much easier to ride in comfort rather than lumber up and down the aisles, but no. Lisa shook the tempting thought out of her head. She would still maintain the dignity of walking on her own two (extremely sore and tired) feet. Grabbing a regular cart, she leaned heavily on the handlebars, letting the cart support some of her weight. That actually helped a little, and she began to make her way toward the dairy section, which required her to pass through the dreaded chips and crackers aisle.
Doritos! Sourdough pretzels! Salt and vinegar potato chips! Lisa couldn't decide which one she wanted more! Well, it wasn't like these highly processed goodies ever went bad, so she might as well stock up now and save herself a future trip to the store, right? Lisa was aware of some of the looks she was getting from other customers. Knowing glances from new moms, shameful glares from withered old biddies, and even a couple double takes and wide-eyed gazes of just sheer amazement at her size. Lisa had gotten used to it and didn't care. She began filling the cart with all the yummy salty snacks that caught her eye. Cheese! You can't make nachos without cheese. And salsa. She loaded up on these as well, and that's when the smell took her. That tantalizing, irresistible smell of fried chicken. Sitting under heat lamps, all crispy and delicious, Lisa's mouth literally watered at the thought of it, and without even a thought, her hands reflexively grabbed the largest bucket they had - the family-sized 20-piece. Of course, she wouldn't eat it all in one sitting, but so what if she did? Lisa was basically a family right now, eating for three as she was.
She put the bucket on top of all the other goodies and decided to make a bee-line for the checkout before her decadent treat got cold. She spun her cart 180 degrees, and that's when she came face to face with... John. Guy #3. Fuuuuuck. This was one set of staring eyes Lisa was not prepared for. She tried and likely failed to hide her combination of dismay and embarrassment at bumping into her ex in this condition.
"Oh, hey, Lisa!" He said cheerily if not a bit nervously, trying to hide his own quizzical confusion at the greatly enhanced version of his ex-girlfriend standing (well, leaning) before him. "Almost didn't recognize you. Um... looks like you're doing well."
"Yep, never better!" Lisa replied with obviously fake enthusiasm as she casually adjusted her posture. She tried to stand up as straight as possible without making her shirt ride up her belly any more than it already was. Lisa gave a sly tug at the hem of her shirt with one hand while keeping the other firmly planted on the cart for support. "Well, it was great to see you again," she added abruptly, "Now I need to, ah, get all this food to the... homeless shelter... where I volunteer."
The lie was blatant, but he just smiled and said, "Well, it was great to see you again. And, um, congrats, I guess?"
"Thanks, and you too," she lied again, taking off in a hurry, painfully aware of his eyes on her huge butt wiggling and jiggling back and forth as she went. Lisa paid for the groceries and loaded them into her car, replaying the incident over and over in her head. Every time she replayed it in her mind, the scene looked worse, with more of her gut sticking out, her outfit sloppier, and his look of disgust and pity all the more pronounced. Lisa shuddered as she put most of the groceries in the trunk of her car, except for the fried chicken. That was riding shotgun. She placed the bucket on the passenger seat and then began to maneuver herself into the driver's seat as she'd done before. In the process, Lisa caught a glimpse of her poor feet, now more swollen than ever. They were absolutely ridiculous, like foot-shaped balloons, with the thongs of her sandals cutting into them painfully and threatening to leave indentations long after she'd get home and put them up.
The whole incident was so frustrating and humiliating, she popped the fried chicken open and started feeding her hungry maw with her right hand as she drove with the left. She'd managed to get through a drumstick and a whole breast before even getting out of the parking lot, and the binge continued non-stop the entire 15 minute drive back to her house. That helped. The tender, greasy goodness did its job, releasing a flood of endorphins that helped her put that awkward encounter in the rearview mirror. Pulling into the driveway, Lisa reached into the bucket and felt... nothing but cardboard. Then she felt thirsty, extremely thirsty from the 20 pieces of salty fried chicken she's just consumed in record time. And that's when she thought, "The milk. Dammit."
And that's when Lisa woke up, confronted by the realization that she was --fuck-- still pregnant. It had been such a pleasant dream, but the sharp contrast with her present reality just made it all the more depressing. She felt a sharp jab from within apply painful pressure to her bladder and knew she had to get to the bathroom before it was too late. The idea of wetting the bed and having to wash and change the sheets in her current condition was just too daunting.
She slowly, painfully heaved the massive bulk of her distended belly in a drawn out effort to roll over in bed. Lisa actually had to use her hands to help roll her belly to spare her overtaxed ab muscles some of the strain. Catching her breath for a moment, she then shuffled to the edge of the bed and heaved herself to her feet, one hand placed firmly in the small of her back as her poor spine adjusted to the heavy load. Then began the ponderous, comical waddle to the bathroom.
Lisa had never asked for any of this. Never wanted to be pregnant, never wanted to be a mother, certainly not all on her own, with twins, and this weird condition -- poly-hydro-something -- that made her belly grow even bigger than a twin pregnancy normally would. At her last appointment, the doctor had said she was measuring (a ridiculous) 54 weeks pregnant, even though she was "only" 33 weeks along. "Just kill me now," she thought to herself.
Lisa wasn't generally a promiscuous girl. It was only the 4th guy she'd ever slept with, and her first random hookup ever (a rebound from her recent breakup with John, aka, guy #3), but the potent mixture of passion, tequila, and an evening of generally bad decision-making left any thoughts about protection in the dust, and here she was now, living with the consequences. Needless to say, the jackass split the scene -- even changed his phone number, the bastard -- as soon as she told him what had happened. Not that she wanted to start a life with this random accidental baby daddy, but now Lisa faced the stigma of being single and heavily pregnant. She really was a good girl (most of the time), but being pregnant and all alone, she knew she looked to all the world like a big, pregnant slut. That wasn't who she was, but it was how everyone would see her.
Early on, Lisa decided that she couldn't bear the thought of an abortion and would put the babies up for adoption. She just had to carry them and get them out of her first. If only she had known then what that would entail. At first, the thought of giving birth -- to twins no less -- terrified poor Lisa. But as the pregnancy dragged on... and on... and on, the thought became less and less frightening. Now, she didn't care how the hell these little parasites came out, she just wanted her body back. Lisa knew it would take months and months of diet and exercise to get back to anything even remotely resembling her pre-pregnancy body, but just to not be a prisoner and slave to these uterine gremlins would be more than enough.
Lisa groaned as she lowered her weighty bulk onto the toilet for the first of today's 5,000 pee breaks. Her belly completely filled her lap, forcing her legs to spread wide. She unconsciously began to rub her massive bump, focusing on the sore spots where the babies were most active and where her skin was becoming irritated with red stretch marks. They itched so badly, she reached for the bottle of cocoa butter and began to rub it in. She continued rubbing as an excuse to avoid getting up off the toilet, but now her butt was starting to fall asleep, and she had to get moving. With a little rocking back and forth, she hoisted herself back up onto her swollen feet. As Lisa regained her balance, her hand grazed the increasingly plump curve of her ass. While her belly was painfully firm, tight as a snare drum, filled with two growing babies and excess fluid, other parts of her seemed to be getting softer by the day. Her pre-pregnancy thongs, which should have been able to fit under her belly, either dug painfully into her softer flesh or didn't go past her widened hips at all.
And then, there were her tits. A perky b-cup since high school, Lisa was initially excited about the prospect of gaining a cup size or two out of this whole ordeal. Well, she did. And then some. She had fantasized about nice, shapely "pornstar tits," but what Lisa saw when she looked down was just a pair of big, heavy udders. They had started growing shortly after she learned she was pregnant and just never stopped, shooting right past her ideal c- and d-cup sizes in the second trimester. Now, they were just big, floppity, heavy milk bags, spilling out gracelessly on either side of her gargantuan gut. Dark and nearly always erect nipples were prominently on public display no matter what kind of top she wore. They hadn't started leaking milk yet, but she almost wished they would so she could relieve some of the pressure that seemed to just keep building up in them. And did she mention they were heavy?! As if she didn't have enough weight to lug around in front of her torso.
Pregnancy had completely transformed Lisa into this fat heifer, huffing and puffing as she waddled from the bathroom to the kitchen. Very unlike her earlier dream, Lisa's skin had taken on a pasty shade of pale due to her avoiding the sun -- any unnecessary time outdoors really -- for the past several months. She literally didn't recognize the face she saw in the mirror anymore. It had plumped out, her chubbier cheeks engulfing any definition her cheekbones once had and -- Oh Gawd -- was that the beginning of a double chin?? As drastic as all these changes were, they were merely sideshows to her explosive belly. It jutted out in front of her, the size of a beachball but heavier than a large watermelon. It was by far the dominant feature on her body, constantly pulsing with the kicks and punches of its uninvited occupants, the skin around it always itchy and demanding to be rubbed. Lisa's overstuffed womb wouldn't let her get a good night's sleep, depriving her of both her front and back, forcing her to contort her bloated body into exotic positions around a stupid body pillow until she got comfortable enough... and then inevitably had to get up to pee again. Her belly button had popped out around the 5th month, at first becoming flush with the curve of her dome, then pointing straight outward. It was like an awkward fleshy golf ball that stuck out through any shirt that went down far enough to cover it. Lisa couldn't imagine how she was going to keep growing like this for another, oh shit, month and a half?? Just thinking about it made her start to tear up, and she knew she had to get on with her day.
Lisa was mortified at what she had become, but she knew it was at least partly her own fault. This entire pregnancy had been a parade of generally unhealthy cravings, and her sheer desire for Hot Pockets dipped in nacho cheese or Pizza Rolls with chocolate ice cream was just too powerful to resist. And around the middle of the second trimester, she stopped fighting temptation and just let herself go. She was a lonely, miserable, fat blob. She couldn't have a drink, she couldn't smoke, she couldn't even go for a run since she was too damn fat, and two very unwelcome passengers were constantly using her bladder as a punching bag. She hadn't even had a good fuck since the fateful night that got her into this mess, and what man would want to have sex with a bloated, disgusting butterball like her now? It was like all of life's little pleasures were taken away except for one. Feeding those cravings felt soooo good. Even though she knew it would only make her fatter and more miserable, she didn't care. In that moment, the delicious taste of her craving du jour, and the animalistic satisfaction of shoving it into her mouth and feeling it slide down her throat into her waiting belly was pure bliss. It was basically the only thing that gave her joy anymore, and she wasn't going to deny herself those delicious moments of pleasure. It was for her mental health, she'd tell herself, so calories be damned!
The daily craving. That's what was on Lisa's mind as she lumbered up to the fridge and began the hunt. Frosted Flakes and M&Ms were already out on the counter. Now, all she needed was... milk? How the hell could she be out of milk?? Like an enraged wild animal, she furiously flung cartons and containers aside, desperately searching for the final ingredient that she knew wasn't there. Lisa pouted audibly to no one in particular and stamped a foot, which sent a gentle wave of fleshy jiggles up her thigh, butt, belly, and tits. Lisa was painfully aware of the irony that she was currently lugging around a very heavy but as-yet unproductive dairy farm on her chest. Not that drinking her own breast milk held any strong appeal for Lisa, but in that moment, her desire for Frosted Flakes and M&Ms floating in a great big bowl of milk was so ravenous, she wouldn't have given it a second thought.
"Shit," Lisa said out loud. This was a craving. It wasn't something she wanted to have, it was something she *needed* to have, something she *would* have. Nothing else in the world could satiate her gnawing hunger for Frosted Flakes and M&Ms in milk, which naturally meant... she would have to go out to the store. "Double shit."
Lisa had never been excessively prideful in her appearance, but she was always conscientious about looking presentable whenever she left the house. She never would have dreamed of going out in pajama pants and a dirty t-shirt before, but that was then. Now, it was just about survival. Since the once-simple act of getting dressed had recently become an olympic event, Lisa spared herself some effort by deciding that her maternity panties were "clean enough" to keep wearing. She grabbed a preposterously huge orange sports bra, slipped it over her head, and worked each of her overflowing udders into the cups. Once in place, the heavy lycra garment was a bit constricting, but she had to admit that it helped with some of the strain her back was feeling. She grabbed a pair of black yoga pants, and slid them up her legs and over her ample butt and hips, the front stopping just beneath the swell of her gut. They still fit... for now, but the black material, stretched thin to a dark shade of gray, did absolutely nothing to hide the well-defined lines created by her panties biting into the soft flesh of her increasingly generous ass. She grabbed a powder blue XL t-shirt dotted with a few telltale chocolate and bbq sauce stains on the upper belly region, pulled it over the top, and giving the front a good yank, found that it covered most of her belly. From her point of view, it gave the illusion of complete coverage, though she suspected there was at least an inch or two of underbelly poking out of the bottom. Whatever, fuckit, she was just going to the store and back. It wasn't like she had any more flattering clothing options, and Lisa refused to spend money on more maternity clothes for an unwanted pregnancy.
Lisa grabbed her coat, buttoning just the top two buttons around her breasts, leaving her big belly jutting out beneath. She had stopped even trying to button it all the way around the end of the second trimester. She started waddling toward the front door, and the feeling of carpet under her bare feet reminded her of the reality her belly had hidden from view... she was still barefoot and pregnant. "Grrrrr," she thought, glancing forlornly at her collection of super cute but now woefully impractical shoes. Despite the harsh November cold, she slipped her plump toes into a pair of cheap, plastic flip flops. They were one of the few footwear options that could still accommodate her poor, swollen feet, and unlike her tennis shoes, these would spare her the indignity of struggling to tie them up.
Dressed for "battle," Lisa waddled out the door to her car. After pushing the driver's seat all the way back, she slid her considerable bulk in. Now for the fine tuning. Lisa sat up as straight as she could and slowly pushed the seat forward until the steering wheel touched her belly. Then she wiggled her toes, searching for the pedals but couldn't quite reach them. So, she pushed the seat forward a bit more, the wheel now pressing more firmly into the massive dome of her pregnancy and found that she could finally reach the pedals. Driving, another once-simple task, was becoming more difficult by the day, and she dreaded what the next month and a half had in store. Would she just become a big, fat, shut-in? Relying on delivery services because she had become too much of a bloated, pregnant cow to take care of herself or even leave the house?? It was a thought she tried to push away even as the reality of the situation became increasingly apparent.
Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, Lisa's heart sank at the sight of the one "maternity parking" spot filled. There was a whole row of open handicapped spaces, and Lisa certainly felt handicapped, but without the placard, she didn't want to risk her car getting towed and having to have someone roll her back home. So, she parked in the nearest open space and plodded along the 100 or so feet -- which felt like a marathon -- to the store's front door. Waddling across the parking lot, she was very aware of the sensation of her plump thighs rubbing together. This was a fairly new indicator of how much her body had changed, and the rhythmic *swish, swish* of lycra grinding against lycra refused to let her forget it. Then, as if to pile on, a stiff breeze confirmed her earlier suspicion that at least a few inches of underbelly were hanging out for all the world to see. Whatever, nothing she could do about that now. She was on a mission. Get in, get her milk, and get out.
At the front door, Lisa caught a glimpse of the electric scooter carts the store had for disabled customers. It would be sooo much easier to ride in comfort rather than lumber up and down the aisles, but no. Lisa shook the tempting thought out of her head. She would still maintain the dignity of walking on her own two (extremely sore and tired) feet. Grabbing a regular cart, she leaned heavily on the handlebars, letting the cart support some of her weight. That actually helped a little, and she began to make her way toward the dairy section, which required her to pass through the dreaded chips and crackers aisle.
Doritos! Sourdough pretzels! Salt and vinegar potato chips! Lisa couldn't decide which one she wanted more! Well, it wasn't like these highly processed goodies ever went bad, so she might as well stock up now and save herself a future trip to the store, right? Lisa was aware of some of the looks she was getting from other customers. Knowing glances from new moms, shameful glares from withered old biddies, and even a couple double takes and wide-eyed gazes of just sheer amazement at her size. Lisa had gotten used to it and didn't care. She began filling the cart with all the yummy salty snacks that caught her eye. Cheese! You can't make nachos without cheese. And salsa. She loaded up on these as well, and that's when the smell took her. That tantalizing, irresistible smell of fried chicken. Sitting under heat lamps, all crispy and delicious, Lisa's mouth literally watered at the thought of it, and without even a thought, her hands reflexively grabbed the largest bucket they had - the family-sized 20-piece. Of course, she wouldn't eat it all in one sitting, but so what if she did? Lisa was basically a family right now, eating for three as she was.
She put the bucket on top of all the other goodies and decided to make a bee-line for the checkout before her decadent treat got cold. She spun her cart 180 degrees, and that's when she came face to face with... John. Guy #3. Fuuuuuck. This was one set of staring eyes Lisa was not prepared for. She tried and likely failed to hide her combination of dismay and embarrassment at bumping into her ex in this condition.
"Oh, hey, Lisa!" He said cheerily if not a bit nervously, trying to hide his own quizzical confusion at the greatly enhanced version of his ex-girlfriend standing (well, leaning) before him. "Almost didn't recognize you. Um... looks like you're doing well."
"Yep, never better!" Lisa replied with obviously fake enthusiasm as she casually adjusted her posture. She tried to stand up as straight as possible without making her shirt ride up her belly any more than it already was. Lisa gave a sly tug at the hem of her shirt with one hand while keeping the other firmly planted on the cart for support. "Well, it was great to see you again," she added abruptly, "Now I need to, ah, get all this food to the... homeless shelter... where I volunteer."
The lie was blatant, but he just smiled and said, "Well, it was great to see you again. And, um, congrats, I guess?"
"Thanks, and you too," she lied again, taking off in a hurry, painfully aware of his eyes on her huge butt wiggling and jiggling back and forth as she went. Lisa paid for the groceries and loaded them into her car, replaying the incident over and over in her head. Every time she replayed it in her mind, the scene looked worse, with more of her gut sticking out, her outfit sloppier, and his look of disgust and pity all the more pronounced. Lisa shuddered as she put most of the groceries in the trunk of her car, except for the fried chicken. That was riding shotgun. She placed the bucket on the passenger seat and then began to maneuver herself into the driver's seat as she'd done before. In the process, Lisa caught a glimpse of her poor feet, now more swollen than ever. They were absolutely ridiculous, like foot-shaped balloons, with the thongs of her sandals cutting into them painfully and threatening to leave indentations long after she'd get home and put them up.
The whole incident was so frustrating and humiliating, she popped the fried chicken open and started feeding her hungry maw with her right hand as she drove with the left. She'd managed to get through a drumstick and a whole breast before even getting out of the parking lot, and the binge continued non-stop the entire 15 minute drive back to her house. That helped. The tender, greasy goodness did its job, releasing a flood of endorphins that helped her put that awkward encounter in the rearview mirror. Pulling into the driveway, Lisa reached into the bucket and felt... nothing but cardboard. Then she felt thirsty, extremely thirsty from the 20 pieces of salty fried chicken she's just consumed in record time. And that's when she thought, "The milk. Dammit."
