It was weird returning to work. Calling clients, skyping (camera off today), meetings, dealing with investors; doing the normal everyday stuff felt anything but normal. By the end of the day the constant swinging motion of the belly forced me to brave a visit to the local pharmacy and ask for medical assistance. It was packed so I waited for it to empty before unzipping my jacket, exposing belly and explaining my predicament to the woman behind the counter. I expected her to crack a smile or reel back in shock, stab me with a syringe, anything but treat me like a pregnant woman. She nodded professionally like she’d seen it all before, opened a drawer and placed an elastic waist strap on the counter. A few minutes later, with belly strapped firmly in place, I waltzed out of there with a new-found spring in my stride. It was wonderful, I could move again. I celebrated by chasing Enzo around the house whilst growling ‘BIG BAD BELLY’S GONNA GET YA’. Then collapsed in a sweaty pregnant heap on the sofa.