Baby on Board

8

Growing up surrounded by beautiful women, I've always felt a tad self-conscious about my looks. Seeing Claudia Schiffer sashay down the catwalk for one of my mother's shows in the nineties gave me a complex about not having blonde hair. I didn't have the full lips of Christy Turlington, either. And let's not even go there with Karen Mulder's bone structure! How is it possible to be that beautiful?

That's exactly the thought that runs through my mind now, more than twenty years on. In that time, I had grown out of the idea that I needed to be exactly like those women that I used to look up to but now, as I prepared to hit Paris Fashion Week for my mother's show, I wasn't so sure. Those old insecurities were flooding back and it was all because the dress that she had left out for me to wear was clinging to my stomach area. 

To the unsuspecting eye, there was absolutely nothing wrong with how the dress fit. I was still in the first trimester of my pregnancy and apart from experiencing a little bloatedness, my stomach was practically flat. There was absolutely no reason for me to be stood in front of the mirror, frowning at my reflection. 

"I still can't go," I whined, much to Sam's frustration. When Mum insisted that I come to Paris to support her with her latest Fashion Week offering, I blackmailed Sam into coming with me, although it didn't take that much to get him to agree. Now, however, I'm sure he's regretting his decision to join me. He arched an eyebrow at me questioningly. "Look at me!"

"Right. And?" He responded, clearly still not understanding the problem. "Why can't you go?"

"Because!" I practically yelled. 

Sam gasped dramatically, his hands flying to his cheeks as he gave me a wide-eyed look. "Not Because!" He began to flap around in a panic in what can only be described as an Oscar-worthy performance. I couldn't help but roll my eyes as he gathered pointless objects in his arms and muttered to himself. "If it's Because then the world as we know it is going to end. No, this cannot be happening. Because! Do you think they have immunisations for that? Charlotte, help me pack. We are now survivalists. Because is coming to kill us all!"

I flipped my middle finger at him and quickly pulled at the side zip of the dress, instantly relaxing when I felt the fabric loosen. Sighing at my predicament, I shouted out both of my sisters' names and quickly went to inspect what they were to wear for the fashion show. We were staying at my parent's apartment in Paris, and Sophie and Emma were here with their husbands. Ambling down one of the hallways, I ran into Sophie. She was still in her bathrobe and had her hair wrapped up in a towel, not a stitch of makeup on her face.

"I need to see what you're wearing," I tell her. Grabbing her by the arm, I drag her back to the bedroom that she occupies. Sophie fumbles around for a while but then produces a little black dress that would look absolutely beautiful on her. "I hate you."

Emma was no better. Being almost as fashion conscious as Sophie, Emma was also going to be wearing a very fitted dress that clung to her to-die-for figure. Sensing that I was almost on the verge of tears, I gave up wanting to swap my dress for Sophie and Emma's and plopped down on the nearest sofa. In recent days, the morning sickness had eased up but had been replaced with exhaustion, meaning that I needed to sit down more often.