'OK, who else can give us their sit for Madame, who is pregnant?' People shifted in their seats and avoided eye contact, unwilling to join the hovering mass. I felt my face, already red from the sun, blush deeply and as a man towards the middle of the bus stood up and nodded at me, I pushed gently through the people, gratefully sinking into the sit provided for me.
As I adjusted my skirt, a van blasting music approached from behind. A whistle and shout from the front seat drew an exasperated sigh from me, and I turned my head as the van drew parallel. The guy in the front seat called out again and as the van passed me I couldn't help but smile as he broke eye contact to take in the bump. His facial expression changed from cocky pride to humble shame in the time it took to drive 200m down the road.
I'm alternatively grateful, amused and annoyed by the way the bump is altering the way people treat me. It's altered my identity without my permission and our unborn daughter is already setting the rules for my new role. I have a little over 10 more weeks to work on acceptance.